


Start the Clock

by 99bottlestogo (darkside213)



Series: Pendragon Life [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/F, Friendship, Growing Up, f/f relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 119,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9281597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkside213/pseuds/99bottlestogo
Summary: Sequel to Secrets We Keep. War is in the air and Jamie Pendragon is not keen to get in the middle of it. After surviving last year's Department of Mysteries disaster, she is ready for a nice long break to spend focusing on two things: school and Ariana Dumbledore. She is yanked from her blissful peace by none other than reports of Death Eaters, and Harry Potter who will not leave the war alone...





	1. World Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana. 
> 
> Note: If you are looking for F/F, this is it. I would suggest reading the beginning of the series since the plot does start from there and you will not know the characters. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except for Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Sixth Year was the year that everything that we had known before started to fade away. The world had changed Voldemort was back and now the general public knew about it. With him came the vicious Death Eaters, one in particular had a pretty nasty focus on my brother and me. In some ways it was one of the best years of my life, but in others— it signified the start of one of my most dangerous adventures yet.

 

Chapter 1- World Out of Time

 

Despite everything going on in the world that summer the Burrow almost seemed to have a shield around it that bounced off any and all negative thoughts that tried to break through its barrier. The only way that the actual world seeped in was through newspaper articles, that I made sure to pinch as soon as Arthur abandoned them for work.

HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?

 

Rumors continue to fly about the mysterious recent disturbance at the Ministry of Magic, during which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was sighted once more.

“We’re not allowed to talk about it, don’t ask me anything,” said one agitated Obliviator, who refused to give his name as he left the Ministry last night.

Nevertheless, highly placed sources within the Ministry have confirmed that the disturbance centered on the fabled Hall of Prophecy.

Though Ministry spokeswizards have hitherto refused even to confirm the existence of such a place, a growing number of the Wizarding community believe that the Death Eaters now serving sentences in Azkaban for trespass and attempted theft were attempting to steal a prophecy. The nature of that prophecy is unknown, although speculation is rife that it concerns Harry Potter, the only person ever known to have survived the Killing Curse, and who is also known to have been at the  Ministry on the night in question. Some are going so far as to call Potter “the Chosen One,” believing that the prophecy names him as the only one who will be able to rid us of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The current whereabouts of the prophecy, if it exists, are unknown, although (ctd. page 2, column 5)

 

SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE

 

Most of this front page is taken up with a large black-and-white picture of a man with a lionlike mane of thick hair and a rather ravaged face. The picture is moving — the man is waving at the ceiling.

 

Rufus Scrimgeour, previously Head of the Auror office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has succeeded Cornelius Fudge as Minister of Magic. The appointment has largely been greeted with enthusiasm by the Wizarding community, though rumors of a rift between the new Minister and Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, surfaced within hours of Scrimgeour taking office.

Scrimgeour’s representatives admitted that he had met with Dumbledore at once upon taking possession of the top job, but refused to comment on the topics under discussion. Albus Dumbledore is known to (ctd. page 3, column 2)

 

MINISTRY GUARANTEES STUDENTS’ SAFETY

 

Newly appointed Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, spoke today of the tough new measures taken by his Ministry to ensure the safety of students returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this autumn.

“For obvious reasons, the Ministry will not be going into detail about its stringent new security plans,” said the Minister, although an insider confirmed that measures include defensive spells and charms, a complex array of countercurses, and a small task force of Aurors dedicated solely to the protection of Hogwarts School.

Most seem reassured by the new Minister’s tough stand on student safety. Said Mrs. Augusta Longbottom, “My grandson, Neville — a good friend of Harry Potter’s, incidentally, who fought the Death Eaters alongside him at the Ministry in June and —”

 

“Will you please put those bloody rags down? There’s nothing good in them even now that they’re reporting the truth.” A highly annoyed voice rings out causing me to slowly lower the newspaper that was obscuring my face. Standing before me donned out in full Quidditch gear from last year is my little sister.

Her brown eyes are alight with excitement at that thought of getting out into the air again. Ever since I told Ginny that I would help her practice for the Quidditch tryouts coming up next year, she has been on my case to practice for at least two hours everyday. She always seems to pick my alone time with the morning paper.

“You do know that there could be something important in these one day.” I say dryly setting down the paper and picking up the booklet which has gained much of my disgust for the past few weeks. I glare at the purple leaflet almost as deadly as Ginny glares at our blond headed guest.

The words on the page make my head swim with anger.

 

——— ISSUED ON BEHALF OF ———

The Ministry of Magic

 

PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES

The Wizarding community is currently under threat from an organization calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack.

 

  1. You are advised not to leave the house alone.
  2. Particular care should be taken during the hours of darkness. Wherever possible, arrange to complete journeys before night has fallen.
  3. Review the security arrangements around your house, making sure that all family members are aware of emergency measures such as Shield and Disillusionment Charms, and, in the case of underage family members, Side-Along-Apparition.
  4. Agree on security questions with close friends and family so as to detect Death Eaters masquerading as others by use of the Polyjuice Potion (see page 2).
  5. Should you feel that a family member, colleague, friend, or neighbor is acting in a strange manner, contact the Magical Law Enforcement Squad at once. They may have been put under the Imperius Curse (see page 4).
  6. Should the Dark Mark appear over any dwelling place or other building, DO NOT ENTER, but contact the Auror office immediately.
  7. Unconfirmed sightings suggest that the Death Eaters may now be using Inferi (see page 10). Any sighting of an Inferius, or encounter with same, should be reported to the Ministry IMMEDIATELY.



 

“You would think that we’re all bloody idiots.” I snarl hotly. Ginny rolls her eyes at me, and shoves the paper off the kitchen table without so much as a blink of an eye.

“Come on Jamie. You promised me flying time, and I’m holding you to it. I don’t care how late you stay up scrawling out letters to your girlfriend.” She says grabbing me by my wrist and pulling me out of the chair and the kitchen. Out in the early morning air there is a slight chill about so I rub my palms together, to warm them up as I follow my sister to the broom shed.

“You’re going to burn out one of these days Gin.” I say softly. My only response to that is a flick of Ginny’s fiery mane of hair.

I follow her into the shed as she grabs her old broom out of the shed, and I take my Firebolt out along with her. Silently the pair of us march away from the Burrow and into the trees making our way to the clearing in there that we can fly in without fear of discovery.

“I honestly don’t see why you’re even worried in the first place Ginny. You fly better than half of the people on the house Quidditch teams in the first place.” I tell her stifling a yawn behind my hand since it is only eight in the morning during summer vacation.

“Am I up to your and Harry’s level yet though?” She demands swirling around to look me in the eye. I falter for a moment, before giving the question some actual serious thought.

“Not quite but you’re nearly there and honestly its only because Harry and I have been playing on the team and have been coached for so long.” I say shrugging my shoulders as I grab the Quaffle and mount my broom, lazily drifting into the air. Ginny rolls her eyes at me and mounts her own broom, and accelerates quickly at me.

I roll out of her way, dodging the grab that she makes for the Quaffle. As soon as I’m righting again, I start streaking across the clearing, both of us taking turns gaining and losing the ball, without any real direction to our practicing. Around a half hour later though, I hear a sound in the bushes, and slow down to any easy glide slightly worried about whom would be coming out here at this time of the day.

Ginny coasts to a stop next to me, but her worried frown is replaced by an eye roll when she sees Ron blearily rubbing his eyes while clutching his new Cleansweep in his hands.

“I still don’t understand why you two have to start out so bloody early in the morning…” He groans tripping over his own feet for a second before catching himself.

“Its almost eleven Ron.” Ginny says drolly. Ron looks up at us giving us unbelieving looks.

“Emphasis on the almost part of that equation.” He grumbles.

“The only reason he’s really up is because Fleur is up and about before noon. Molly is busy tending to the cleaning and Luka is off doing whatever the hell he does these days, so that just leaves little Ronniekins to be the only person there for her to talk to. You just love that don’t you Ron?” I tease with a crooked smirk on my face. Ron looks more awake now and there’s a definite scowl on his face.

“You got mean when you got into a relationship. I’m telling on you.” He pouts before throwing his leg over his own broom and taking off in the air to meet us. A slight frown comes over me at the thought of Ron telling on me to my own girlfriend but I shake my head knowing that that will never happen.

The three of us practice for another good hour without any interruptions. Ginny and I get in good workouts at shooting on Ron and the improvised hoops that we made from old junk that we found in the village. We mess around until lunchtime when Ron’s stomach finally demands to be fed. We made our way back to the Burrow laughing and giving pointers on the skills that we still had to brush up on for the season.

Once the brooms are locked back away in the shed, we march into the kitchen looking for any stray scraps that we can get out hands on before lunch is actually ready. Molly is standing in front of the stove watching a pot stir itself, and sitting at the kitchen table looking over a giant witch wedding book is Fleur and Luka. The smile that was previously on his face is wiped off the second that we’re in the same room together.

I shift uncomfortably for a second, and before anything can be said Luka gets up from the table and leaves the room with a dramatic eye roll and a scoff. “And there he goes. I think he made it a whole ten seconds this time.” Ron says with an eye roll of his own. I sink down into a chair at the table with a defeated sigh. I hate that its like this between us now but there is nothing that I can do about it now.

“’e is just tired Jamie.” Fleur says turning to me and giving me a sympathetic smile. I shake my head at that.

“You don’t have to make excuses for him Fleur.” Molly says sharply from the stove. I glance up and take in the annoyed and stern expression that’s on her face. Her gaze is directed in the direction of the stairs that he had disappeared up. “Merlin help that boy see reason before I tan it into him.” She grumbles.

“Molly you don’t need to do that. I know my brother, he’s just shocked that’s all. He’ll come around, he’s just feeling a little betrayed at the moment.” I say weakly trying to explain away the cold shoulder that I’ve been getting from him for weeks now.

“Still no excuse for acting like a downright prat.” Ginny says collapsing into the chair next to mine, and the farthest away from Fleur. Two loud cracks come from outside and a wide grin starts growing on my face. There’s only two people that I know who would show up in the middle of the day uninvited.

The door to the kitchen is thrown open and in strut Fred and George in matching bright lime green suits, that set off their red hair. “Kiddies—” George calls.

“I’m home!” Fred finishes dramatically. I snicker at them and Ginny gets up to wrap the two of them in a giant hug.

“Show offs? What’re these made out of stinksap essence?” Ron grumbles but the twins overhear them.

“Is that jealousy I hear little brother?” Fred says.

“Though that is a marvelous idea that we must market for witches and wizards who wish to repel the repellant suitors of theirs.” George grins. Ron rolls his eyes at them, and I get up to hug them as well, but not before seeing the disapproving look that Molly is casting their way.

“Why is it that you two always manage to show up when there’s a meal about to be served?” She scowls. Fred goes over to her, and gives her a big hug around the middle from behind.

“Because for the many talents that your stellar sons possess cooking is not one of them.” He says.

“You wouldn’t want your very hard working, industrious sons starving would you mother dear?” George joins in. I can help but chuckle at them. Molly can’t seem to help herself either. As much as she was against the pair of them opening a joke shop in the beginning, she has become one of the proudest people of them.

“Oh you— just sit down will you. Lunch will be ready in a few minutes.” She concedes, and grinning wickedly the twins sit down in seats on either side of Fleur.

“’ello boys. You are looking ‘andsome as ever.” She compliments them, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at that. She’s totally feeding into their egos now.

“Handsome my foot.” Ron mumbles next to me and I fight to keep the grin off my face.

“Where is sourpuss by the way?” George questions, looking around for my brother. Molly makes a disgruntled noise at the nickname given to him.

“Sulking most likely.” Fred says with a shrug. “So sister dear, how is our other favorite blond these days?”

I see their expectant eyes on me and feel a faint blush come to my cheeks. Fred has been most vocal and boisterous at declaring that he knew about the two of us before anyone else for he walked in on us almost kissing. His excitement lessened greatly when Ginny had declared that she knew before him, and I finished popping his bubble once I admitted that Hermione had guessed that there was something between us for years.

“She’s doing really well. Her grandfather took her to a few professional Quidditch games, and they’ve been spending as much time as they can together when he doesn’t have to do work for the Order. She’s looking forward to staying at the Burrow though. She says that she loves this place like it’s a second home.” I say with a bright smile on my face, the one that apparently I always get on my face when I talk about Ariana.

“Well she is welcome here at any time Jamie.” Molly says coming over and putting down bowls of Spaghetti in front of us. She turns around back to the stairs. “Lunch! I am not making you anything later if you choose not to come down and eat with us mister!” She yells up the stairs.

With a sigh and a shake of her head she joins us at the table. The conversation switches back to lighter topics like the success of the twin’s shop, Arthur’s latest magical catastrophes with muggles, and the biggest piece of news Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

That’s right my newest eldest brother managed to go and snatch himself the beautiful French half-Veela. That had Fred and George impressed more than anything for days, claiming that they finally got the familial resemblance between them now.

She has been here since practically the beginning of summer, planning with Molly how exactly the wedding is going to work, and I will just tell you this, there are major differences in what the two of them think will be a good wedding. Ginny can’t stand anything Fleur these days, and I just try to slink around hiding as best I can from all the planning. I am not the kind of girl who gets all gaga over details like those.

I tell Ariana so in my letters to her, and she always get a huge kick out of imagining me cornered by Molly and Fleur demanding my opinion on the color scheme of the ceremony. I will say one thing; Ariana certainly has some scary ideas in that head of hers.

Lunch finishes up and Fleur offers to help Molly clear, and I can tell by the tight look on her face that she wishes that Fleur had never offered to in the first place.

“What do you say Jame, a game of Exploding Snap?” Ron offers heading towards the living room.

“I’m game, try and keep hold of your eyebrows this time.” I grin. Ron huffs, and heads into the living room with Ginny following after him, giving him flack about the countless times that Molly has had to regrow if not one but both of his brows back. Before I can head out to join them, Molly stops me.

“Jamie we need to speak.” She says, and the look on her face is serious. I blanche remembering what went down the last time she sat me down to ‘talk’. She had been surprisingly quiet when she learned about my relationship with Ariana. To make it the single most embarrassing moment of my life she gave me ‘The Talk’, she even researched it and everything for me.

I swear that I had never squirmed or blushed so much in my life. She was flustered for she never had to give this talk to a girl before or have it be about another girl.

“I-I’m okay.” I say trying to back into the living room as quickly as I can, not eager for another repeat performance. Realization dawns to her on where my mind is going, and heat rises to her cheeks as well.

“No, Jamie its nothing like that. We need to speak for Dumbledore contacted me. He has need of you and Luka for some time.” She tells me. I cock my head at that.

“Why does Dumbledore need us?” I ask suddenly very confused.

“I have no idea dear only that he needs both of you for a short time to help him on some business that he needs to conduct. He hasn’t told me much more than that I’m afraid. He will be by for you two sometime soon.” She tells me. I nod my head in agreement, though I’m not so sure how it’s going to be forced to go on a trip with only Professor Dumbledore and my brother. I may not make it back alive for I’m dating the one’s granddaughter and the other is mad at me for dating said girl. Well this is certainly going to be interesting.

Our day goes by very fast and the three of us find ourselves playing yet another game of exploding snap before Molly is going to chase us up to bed. Ginny and I have decided to try and team up against Ron.

A very frantic Molly who looks way too flustered suddenly interrupts us a few hands of exploding snap later, there must be another unexpected guest.

“Jamie, Professor Dumbledore is here for you.” She says, and that ends any thoughts that I had on making Ron lose his other eyebrow. Well I guess that this thing is going to happen sooner rather than later.


	2. Horace Slughorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 2- Horace Slughorn

 

It is definitely a very strange and awkward experience when you are in the standing by the curb in the middle of a muggle suburban neighborhood waiting for your magical wizarding Headmaster to come back and tell you where exactly we’re going. I know that he is collecting Harry. The boy had tried on many occasions describing what exactly his house looked like, but nothing every really prepared me for this level of—

“Mundane. This place reeks of it.” Luka mutters stuffing his hands further into his sweatshirt’s pockets. I roll my eyes at him.

“You shouldn’t be so quick to judgment.” I tell him simply, though I feel off myself. I feel like I stick out here like a sore thumb. I’ve never once lived in a suburban environment like this before, and my home now is way out in the countryside.

“Like you’re a saint.” Luka scoffs. I grit my teeth, and tell myself that I just have to stick through this until my brother sees that he’s being an arse, and promptly gets his head out of his. I know for a fact that he’s hurting Ariana by not responding to any of her letters that she’s sent him. After a few more awkward minutes, the door to the house behind us opens, and I turn around to see Dumbledore coming out of the house with a boy with messy black hair that sticks up every which way.

A large grins slips onto my face. He’s grown taller as I have, but I could tell my best friend anywhere. They approach us, and it takes Harry a second before he realizes that Luka and I are standing there.

“Heya Harry. Long time no see.” I say wrapping him in a tight hug. Harry returns it happily with a large smile on his face. I watch as he nods to my brother in greeting. Dumbledore is not in the mood for our small impromptu gathering. He is more focused on getting us where we’re going.

“Keep your wand at the ready, you three.” he says brightly.

“But I thought I’m not allowed to use magic outside school, sir?” Harry says confusedly. I just pull my wand out happy to have something familiar back in my control in this very unfamiliar situation.

“If there is an attack,” says Dumbledore, “I give you three permission to use any counterjinx or curse that might occur to you. However, I do not think you’ll need worry about being attacked tonight.”

“Why not, sir?” Luka asks suddenly curious about what we’re doing.

“You are with me,” says Dumbledore simply. “This will do.”

We come to an abrupt halt at the end of Privet Drive.

“You have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test,” he says looking at the three of us seriously.

“No,” says Harry. “I thought you had to be seventeen?”

“Or know Fred and George.” I mumble.

“You do,” says Dumbledore. “So you three will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don’t mind — as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment.”

Harry, Luka, and I crowd around gripping Dumbledore’s proffered forearm.

“Very good,” says Dumbledore. “Well, here we go.”

Then there’s the familiar tightening and pulling motion, and everything goes black. Several very cramped and uncomfortable seconds later I’m able to breathe properly again as I stumble away from the three of them. That was too close for comfort. I’m actually thankful to the twins for getting me comfortable with apparition.

We are now standing in what appears to be a deserted village square, in the center of which stands an old war memorial and a few benches.

“Are you all right?” asks Dumbledore, looking down at Harry and Luka solicitously. “The sensation does take some getting used to.”

“I’m fine,” says Harry, rubbing his ears, while my brother is very pale. “But I think I might prefer brooms. . . .”

“That’s fine I do too.” I tell him with a shaky smile.

Dumbledore smiles, draws his traveling cloak a little more tightly around his neck, and says, “This way.”

Luka quickly follows after him and Harry and I fall into step together behind them. I still wonder exactly what is going on around here.

Dumbledore sets off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it is almost midnight.

“So tell me, Harry,” says Dumbledore. “Your scar . . . has it been hurting at all?”

Harry raises a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubs the lightning-shaped mark.

“No,” he says awkwardly, “and I’ve been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort’s getting so powerful again.”

I glance up at Dumbledore and see that he is wearing a satisfied expression.

“I, on the other hand, thought otherwise,” says Dumbledore. “Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you.”

“Well that’s good. I’m not sure how many more nasty surprises I can take from you Boy Wonder.” I say with a slight shiver.

“Well, I’m not complaining,” says Harry.

We turn a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. I look sideways at Dumbledore again. “Professor?”

“Jamie?”

“Er — where exactly are we?”

“This, Jamie, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton.”

“And what are we doing here?” Luka asks joining in the conversation.

“Ah yes, of course, I haven’t told you three,” says Dumbledore. “Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts.”

“How can we help with that, sir?” Harry questions.

“Oh, I think we’ll find a use for you,” says Dumbledore vaguely. “Left here, come along.”

We proceed up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. All the windows are dark. The odd chill that lain over Privet Drive persists here too.

“Professor, why couldn’t we just Apparate directly into your old colleague’s house?” Harry asks.

“Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door,” says Dumbledore. “Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance —”

“— you can’t Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds,” says Harry quickly. “Hermione Granger told me.”

“And she is quite right. We turn left again.”

The church clock chimes midnight behind us. I wonder why Dumbledore doesn’t consider it rude to call on his old colleague so late, but now that conversation has been established, there are more pressing questions to ask.

“Sir, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been sacked. . . .” Harry says.

“Correct,” says Dumbledore, now turning up a steep side street. “He has been replaced, as I am sure you also saw, by Rufus Scrimgeour, who used to be Head of the Auror office.”

“Is he . . . Do you think he’s good?” asks Harry. I pay close attention now. This is something that I was wondering as well.

“An interesting question,” says Dumbledore. “He is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius.”

“Yes, but I meant —”

“I know what you meant. Rufus is a man of action and, having fought Dark wizards for most of his working life, does not underestimate Lord Voldemort.”

I wait, but Dumbledore does not say anything about the disagreement with Scrimgeour that the Daily Prophet reported, and we do not have the nerve to pursue the subject, so Harry changes it. “And . . . sir . . . I saw about Madam Bones.”

“Yes,” says Dumbledore quietly. “A terrible loss. She was a great witch. Just up here, I think — ouch.”

He points with his injured hand.

“Professor, what happened to your — ?”

“I have no time to explain now,” says Dumbledore. “It is a thrilling tale, I wish to do it justice.”

He smiles at Harry, and I understand that he is not being snubbed, and that he has permission to keep asking questions.

“Sir — I got a Ministry of Magic leaflet by owl, about security measures we should all take against the Death Eaters. . . .”

“Yes, I received one myself,” says Dumbledore, still smiling. “Did you find it useful?”

“Not really.”

“Jamie practically burned ours.” Luka supplies, and I glare at him.

“I can’t help it if it’s just a waste of parchment.” I scowl.

“No, I thought not. You have not asked me, for instance, what is my favorite flavor of jam, to check that I am indeed Professor Dumbledore and not an impostor.”

“I didn’t . . .” Harry begins.

“For future reference, it is raspberry . . . although of course, if I were a Death Eater, I would have been sure to research my own jam preferences before impersonating myself.”

“Er . . . right,” says Harry. “Well, on that leaflet, it said something about Inferi. What exactly are they? The leaflet wasn’t very clear.”

“They are corpses,” says Dumbledore calmly, and I shiver. Let’s hope that we never have to face those. “Dead bodies that have been bewitched to do a Dark wizard’s bidding. Inferi have not been seen for a long time, however, not since Voldemort was last powerful. . . . He killed enough people to make an army of them, of course. This is the place, you three, just here. . . .”

We are nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden. I am too busy digesting the horrible idea of Inferi to have much attention left for anything else, but as we reach the front gate, Dumbledore stops dead and Harry and I walk into him.

“Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear.”

I follow his gaze up the carefully tended front path and feel my heart sink. The front door is hanging off its hinges.

Dumbledore glances up and down the street. It seems quite deserted.

“Wand out and follow me,” he says quietly.

He opens the gate and walks swiftly and silently up the garden path, Harry, Luka, and I at his heels, then pushes the front door very slowly, his wand raised and at the ready.

“Lumos.”

Dumbledore’s wand-tip ignites, casting its light up a narrow hallway. To the left, another door stands open. Holding his illuminated wand aloft, Dumbledore walks into the sitting room with us right behind him. Truthfully I was wishing that we didn’t have to be doing something dangerous so soon. My nerves have barely settled since the Department of Mysteries. Honestly I am loathe to ever step foot in the Ministry again for a good long time.

A scene of total devastation meets our eyes. A grandfather clock lays splintered at our feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little farther away like a dropped sword. A piano is on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier glitters nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides; fragments of glass and china lay like powder over everything.  Dumbledore raises his wand even higher, so that its light is thrown upon the walls, where something darkly red and glutinous is spattered over the wallpaper. Harry, Luka’s, and my small intake of breath makes Dumbledore look around.

“Not pretty, is it?” he says heavily. “Yes, something horrible has happened here.”

I’m not doubting that at all.

Dumbledore moves carefully into the middle of the room, scrutinizing the wreckage at his feet. We follow, gazing around, half-scared of what we might see hidden behind the wreck of the piano or the overturned sofa, but there is no sign of a body.

“Maybe there was a fight and — and they dragged him off, Professor?” Luka suggests, and I try not to imagine how badly wounded a man would have to be to leave those stains spattered halfway up the walls.

“I don’t think so,” says Dumbledore quietly, peering behind an overstuffed armchair lying on its side.

“You mean he’s — ?” I start

“Still here somewhere? Yes.”

And without warning, Dumbledore swoops, plunging the tip of his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair, which yells, “Ouch!”

“Good evening, Horace,” says Dumbledore, straightening up again.

Okay now that is not something you see everyday. Where a split second before there was an armchair, there now crouches an enormously fat, bald, old man who is massaging his lower belly and squinting up at Dumbledore with an aggrieved and watery eye.

“There was no need to stick the wand in that hard,” he says gruffly, clambering to his feet. “It hurt.”

The wandlight sparkles on his shiny pate, his prominent eyes, his enormous, silver, walruslike mustache, and the highly polished buttons on the maroon velvet jacket he is wearing over a pair of lilac silk pajamas. The top of his head barely reaches Dumbledore’s chin.

“What gave it away?” he grunts as he staggers to his feet, still rubbing his lower belly. He seems remarkably unabashed for a man who has just been discovered pretending to be an armchair.

“My dear Horace,” says Dumbledore, looking amused, “if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house.”

The wizard claps a pudgy hand to his vast forehead.

“The Dark Mark,” he mutters. “Knew there was something . . . ah well. Wouldn’t have had time anyway, I’d only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room.”

He heaves a great sigh that makes the ends of his mustache flutter. Well this is one of the strangest conversations that I’ve ever been privy to, and trust me I’ve heard some strange things in my years.

“Would you like my assistance clearing up?” asks Dumbledore politely.

“Please,” says the other.

They stand back to back; the tall thin wizard and the short round one, and wave their wands in one identical sweeping motion.

The furniture flies back to its original places; ornaments re-form in midair, feathers zoom into their cushions; torn books repair themselves as they land upon their shelves; oil lanterns soar onto side tables and reignite; a vast collection of splintered silver picture frames fly glittering across the room and alight, whole and untarnished, upon a desk; rips, cracks, and holes heal everywhere, and the walls wipe themselves clean.

“What kind of blood was that, incidentally?” asks Dumbledore loudly over the chiming of the newly unsmashed grandfather clock.

“On the walls? Dragon,” shouts the wizard called Horace, as, with a deafening grinding and tinkling, the chandelier screws itself back into the ceiling.

There was a final plunk from the piano, and silence.

“Yes, dragon,” repeats the wizard conversationally. “My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable.”

He stumps over to a small crystal bottle standing on top of a sideboard and holds it up to the light, examining the thick liquid within.

“Hmm. Bit dusty.”

He sets the bottle back on the sideboard and sighs. It is then that his gaze falls upon Harry, Luka, and me.

“Oho,” he says, his large round eyes flying to Harry’s forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it bore, and quickly glancing over the two of us. “Oho!”

“This,” says Dumbledore, moving forward to make the introduction, “is Harry Potter, and Luka and Jamie Pendragon. Harry, Luka, Jamie this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn.”

Slughorn turns on Dumbledore, his expression shrewd. “So that’s how you thought you’d persuade me, is it? Well, the answer’s no, Albus.”

He pushes past us, his face turned resolutely away with the air of a man trying to resist temptation.

“I suppose we can have a drink, at least?” asks Dumbledore. “For old time’s sake?”

Slughorn hesitates.

“All right then, one drink,” he says ungraciously.

Dumbledore smiles at the three of us and directs us towards the couch. We sit but I have this weird feeling that Dumbledore really wants Slughorn to see us for the couch is right near the fire. Certainly when Slughorn, who was busy with decanters and glasses, turns to face the room again, his eyes fall immediately upon Harry and then slowly travel to us.

“Hmpf,” he says, looking away quickly as though frightened of hurting his eyes.  “Here —” He gives a drink to Dumbledore, who sat down without invitation, thrusts the tray at me, and then sinks into the cushions of the repaired chair and a disgruntled silence. His legs are so short they do not touch the floor.

“Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?” Dumbledore asks.

“Not so well,” says Slughorn at once. “Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism too. Can’t move like I used to. Well, that’s to be expected. Old age. Fatigue.”

“And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice,” says Dumbledore. “You can’t have had more than three minutes’ warning?”

Slughorn says, half irritably, half proudly, “Two. Didn’t hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still,” he adds sternly, seeming to pull himself back together again, “the fact remains that I’m an old man, Albus. A tired old man who’s earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts.”

He certainly has those, I think looking around the room. It is stuffy and cluttered, yet nobody can say it is uncomfortable; there are soft chairs and footstools, drinks and books, boxes of chocolates and plump cushions. If I did not know who lived there, I would have guessed at a rich, fussy old lady.

“You’re not yet as old as I am, Horace,” says Dumbledore.

“Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself,” says Slughorn bluntly.  His pale gooseberry eyes have found Dumbledore’s injured hand. “Reactions not what they were, I see.”

“You’re quite right,” says Dumbledore serenely, shaking back his sleeve to reveal the tips of those burned and blackened fingers; the sight of them makes the back of my neck prickle unpleasantly. Why hadn’t Ariana mentioned this in her letters? “I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand . . .”

He shrugs and spreads his hands wide, as though to say that age has its compensations, and I notice a ring on his uninjured hand that I have never seen Dumbledore wear before (Harry sees it too): It is large, rather clumsily made of what looks like gold, and is set with a heavy black stone that has cracked down the middle. Slughorn’s eyes linger for a moment on the ring too, and I see a tiny frown momentarily crease his wide forehead.

“So, all these precautions against intruders, Horace . . . are they for the Death Eaters’ benefit, or mine?” asks Dumbledore.

“What would the Death Eaters want with a poor broken-down old buffer like me?” demands Slughorn.

“I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder,” says Dumbledore. “Are you really telling me that they haven’t come recruiting yet?”

Slughorn eyes Dumbledore balefully for a moment, then mutters, “I haven’t given them the chance. I’ve been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house — the owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands — it’s been very pleasant, I’ll be sorry to leave. It’s quite easy once you know how, one simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneakoscopes and make sure the neighbors don’t spot you bringing in the piano.”

“Ingenious,” says Dumbledore. “But it sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts —”

“If you’re going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that’s how you treat teachers these days —”

“Professor Umbridge ran afoul of our centaur herd,” says Dumbledore. “I think you, Horace, would have known better than to stride into the forest and call a horde of angry centaurs ‘filthy half-breeds.’”

“That’s what she did, did she?” says Slughorn. “Idiotic woman. Never liked her.”

Harry and I chuckle and both Dumbledore and Slughorn look round at us.

“Sorry,” Harry says hastily. “It’s just — I didn’t like her either.”

“Same.” I agree with him, unconsciously rubbing my scarred hand.

Dumbledore stands up rather suddenly.

“Are you leaving?” asks Slughorn at once, looking hopeful.

“No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom,” says Dumbledore.

“Oh,” says Slughorn, clearly disappointed. “Second on the left down the hall.”

Dumbledore strides from the room. Once the door has closed behind him, there is silence. After a few moments, Slughorn gets to his feet but seems uncertain what to do with himself. He shoots a furtive look at Harry, then crosses to the fire and turns his back on it, warming his wide behind.

“Don’t think I don’t know why he’s brought you,” he says abruptly.

We merely look at Slughorn. Slughorn’s watery eyes slide over Harry’s scar, this time taking in the rest of his face.

“You look very like your father.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told,” says Harry.

“Except for your eyes. You’ve got —”

“My mother’s eyes, yeah.” Harry says.

“Hmpf. Yes, well. You shouldn’t have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother,” Slughorn adds, in answer to Harry’s questioning look. “Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too.”

“Which was your House?” I ask breaking into the conversation, unable to help myself.

“I was Head of Slytherin,” says Slughorn. “Oh, now,” he goes on quickly, seeing the expression on our faces and wagging a stubby finger at us, “don’t go holding that against me! You’ll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Sirius Black? You must have done — been in the papers for the last couple of years — died a few weeks ago —”

I wince glancing at Harry to see the upset look on his face.

“Well, anyway, he was a big pal of your father’s at school. The whole Black family had been in my House, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame — he was a talented boy. I got his brother, Regulus, when he came along, but I’d have liked the set.”

He sounds like an enthusiastic collector who was outbid at auction. Apparently lost in memories, he gazes at the opposite wall, turning idly on the spot to ensure an even heat on his backside.

“I knew your parents as well.” He says suddenly gesturing to Luka and me. I’m not sure exactly what to think of that. “Great wizard your father was a true shame that he wasn’t Slytherin like his brother— very talented boy. And your mother— well she was definitely quite the creature, sharp as a whip, and one of the only students to ever turn down an invitation at my table…” He trails off.

He turns his attention back onto Harry though, and I have to admit that I’m happy that it does. I’m pleased that Harry is a greater commodity than us at the moment, I still feel dirty even though his gaze is now off me.

“Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn’t believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good.”

“One of my best friends is Muggle-born,” says Harry, “and she’s the best in our year.”

“Funny how that sometimes happens, isn’t it?” says Slughorn. Well I really hope he doesn’t come to teach.

“Not really,” says Harry coldly.

Slughorn looks down at him in surprise. “You mustn’t think I’m prejudiced!” he says. “No, no, no! Haven’t I just said your mother was one of my all-time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too — now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course — another Muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!”

He bounces up and down a little, smiling in a self-satisfied way, and points at the many glittering photograph frames on the dresser, each peopled with tiny moving occupants.

“All ex-students, all signed. You’ll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he’s always interested to hear my take on the day’s news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes — a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkiss, who gave him his first job! And at the back — you’ll see her if you just crane your neck — that’s Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies. . . . People are always astonished to hear I’m on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!”

This thought seems to cheer him up enormously.

“And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?” asks Harry, and I cannot help wondering why the Death Eaters have not yet tracked down Slughorn if hampers of sweets, Quidditch tickets, and visitors craving his advice and opinions can find him.

The smile slides from Slughorn’s face as quickly as the blood from his walls.

“Of course not,” he says, looking down at Harry. “I have been out of touch with everybody for a year.”

“Still . . . the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I’m sure they’re very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don’t personally fancy the mortality rate —”

“You don’t have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts,” Luka says for the first time not looking too impressed either. “Most of the teachers aren’t in it, and none of them has ever been killed — well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort.”

I am sure Slughorn is one of those wizards who cannot bear to hear Voldemort’s name spoken aloud, and am not disappointed: Slughorn gives a shudder and a squawk of protest, which we ignore.

“I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore’s headmaster; he’s supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn’t he?” Harry goes on.

Slughorn gazes into space for a moment or two: He seems to be thinking over Harry’s words.

“Well, yes, it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore,” he mutters grudgingly. “And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend . . . in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus. . . . I cannot pretend that Amelia Bones’s death did not shake me. . . . If she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection . . .”

Dumbledore reenters the room and Slughorn jumps as though he has forgotten he is in the house.

“Oh, there you are, Albus,” he says. “You’ve been a very long time. Upset stomach?”

“No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines,” says Dumbledore. “I do love knitting patterns. Well, children, we have trespassed upon Horace’s hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave.”

Not at all reluctant to obey, Luka, Harry, and I jumped to our feet. Slughorn seems taken aback.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one.”

“Lost . . . ?”

Slughorn seems agitated. He twiddles his fat thumbs and fidgets as he watches Dumbledore fasten his traveling cloak, and us zip up our jackets.

“Well, I’m sorry you don’t want the job, Horace,” says Dumbledore, raising his uninjured hand in a farewell salute. “Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to.”

“Yes . . . well . . . very gracious . . . as I say . . .”

“Good-bye, then.”

“Bye,” says Harry.

“Good luck with the Death Eaters.” I say not sure at all if he will survive, and watch the man flinch again. Luka hits my arm but I refuse to be apologetic.

We are at the front door when there is a shout from behind us.

“All right, all right, I’ll do it!”

Dumbledore turns to see Slughorn standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room.

“You will come out of retirement?”

“Yes, yes,” says Slughorn impatiently. “I must be mad, but yes.”

“Wonderful,” says Dumbledore, beaming. “Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September.”

“Yes, I daresay you will,” grunts Slughorn.

As we set off down the garden path, Slughorn’s voice floats after us, “I’ll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!”

Dumbledore chuckles. The garden gate swings shut behind us, and we set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.

“Well done, you three,” says Dumbledore.

“We didn’t do anything,” says Harry in surprise.

“Except get creeped out.” I mutter.

“Oh yes you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?”

“Er . . .” Luka says unsure how to answer.

“Not really.” I mumble again.

“Horace,” says Dumbledore, relieving us, “likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystalized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office.”

“I tell you all this,” Dumbledore continues, “not to turn you against Horace — or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn — but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, three. Harry you would be the jewel of his collection; ‘the Boy Who Lived’ . . . or, as they call you these days, ‘the Chosen One.’ Two Pendragons never hurt either.”

Dumbledore has stopped walking, level with the church we have passed earlier.

“This will do. If you will grasp my arm.”

The three of us do so, and it is again yet another unpleasant trip, that has me stumbling away and almost running into the Burrow, the only pleasure that I get out of this trip is that my brother is currently losing his dinner over in the bushes. I see that there is a light on in the kitchen, and I know that Molly is in there worrying fretfully over all of us.

“Jamie, Luka, would you mind giving Harry and I a moment alone?” Dumbledore asks us. I nod my head, and Luka shakily follows behind me back into the comfort of the Burrow, where Molly immediately goes to making sure that Luka is all right. I look out the window into the dark not being able to see Harry or Dumbledore there. I feel used, and it is not a feeling that I particularly like.


	3. An Excess of Phlegm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 3- An Excess of Phlegm

 

Before I can think any harder on what happened to me this evening soft hands are covering my eyes and the sweet smell of lavender fills my nose. “Guess who?” A soft voice whispers against my ear, making the small hairs on the back of my neck rise.

“I think I’m going to be sick again.” I can hear Luka grumpily say in the background.

“Then upstairs to bed with you.” Molly’s harsh voice is next, followed by the loud stomping of dragged feet.

“Hm… I don’t know Ginny?” I tease. Suddenly I’m released and spun around to take in the vision of Ariana Dumbledore and boy is that enough to catch my breath in my chest.

“If you and your sister are acting like that then there is definitely something we need to talk about.” She says with a wry smile on her face. My grin widens, and before she can say anything else smart, I have my arms around her in a tight hug. Ariana’s arms wrap around me just as tightly holding me to her closely.

I nuzzle my face into her neck, and let go a contented sigh. This is all I wanted, especially after a long and frankly devaluing night that I’ve just had. “I missed you.” I murmur, closing my eyes to truly savor the feeling of connectedness.

Her warm breath makes shivers run down my spine as she chuckles. “I can see… I’ve missed you too.” She breathes.

We stand there for another few moments before there’s a not so subtle throat clearing coming from the direction of the stove. I reluctantly pull away from the girl who I haven’t seen in weeks, though my hand finds hers, and laces our fingers together.

I look up and I’m pleased to see that Molly is smiling at the two of us happily, and only a small blush is now adorning my cheeks. I realize for the first time as well that there is someone else in our kitchen besides Molly. I look over at the table and see that there is a woman sitting there. It takes me a second before I realize that the woman sitting before me is actually Tonks.

Gone is her bright bubblegum hair and in its place is a rather mousy brown color, she looks drawn and pale. I can’t believe that this is the same woman. “I’ll tell you later.” Ariana whispers to me softly. I give a soft subtle nod of my head.

“Wotcher Jamie. You two are cute together… I always thought you’d be…” Tonks says attempting to force a dull smile on her face. I smile slightly in thanks at the complement.

“You must be exhausted, either sit down for a soothing cuppa nighttime tea, or straight up to bed.” Molly says, and I immediately sit down at the table with Ariana, for I am far too wired now to even think about going to sleep.

Molly got to making some tea for us, while talking to Tonks in light tones, while I occupied my time playing with Ariana’s fingers, happily content being by her side.

Suddenly there are three sharp knocks on the door and Molly hurries over to it, while the rest of us look over. I know its most likely Dumbledore and Harry though, but Molly is pulling out all the stops with the stupid leaflet.

“Who’s there?” Molly says in a nervous voice. “Declare yourself!”

“It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry in.”

She opens the door at once.

“Harry, dear! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!”

“We were lucky,” says Dumbledore, ushering Harry over the threshold. “Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. Harry, Luka, and Jamie’s doing, of course. Ah, hello, Nymphadora!”

“Hello, Professor,” she says. “Wotcher, Harry.”

“Hi, Tonks.” Harry says looking as startled by her appearance as I was.

“Hey Harry.” Ariana says with a grin, and Harry returns it.

“Good to see you again.” Harry says looking at the way the two of us are pushed flush up against each other.

Ariana merely returns the looks with a smile. I can feel Professor Dumbledore’s eyes on us but I don’t look.

“I’d better be off,” Tonks says quickly, standing up and pulling her cloak around her shoulders. “Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly.”

“Please don’t leave on my account,” says Dumbledore courteously, “I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour.”

“No, no, I need to get going,” says Tonks, not meeting Dumbledore’s eyes. “’Night —”

“Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend, Remus and Mad-Eye are coming — ?”

“No, really, Molly . . . thanks anyway . . . Good night, everyone.”

Tonks hurries past Dumbledore and Harry into the yard; a few paces beyond the doorstep, she turns on the spot and vanishes into thin air. I notice that Molly looks troubled.

“Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry,” says Dumbledore. “Take care of yourself. Ariana have a lovely rest of your break. Molly, your servant.”

He makes Molly a bow and follows Tonks, vanishing at precisely the same spot.  Molly closes the door on the empty yard and then steers Harry by the shoulders into the full glow of the lantern on the table to examine his appearance.

“You’re like Ron,” she sighs, looking him up and down. “Both of you look as though you’ve had Stretching Jinxes put on you. I swear Ron’s grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. Are you hungry, Harry?”

“Yeah, I am,” says Harry.

“Sit down, dear, I’ll knock something up.”

As Harry sits down, a furry ginger cat with a squashed face jumps onto his knees and settles there, purring.

“When did Hermione get here, and better yet when did you get here?” I ask facing Ariana, as Harry tickles Crookshanks behind the ears.

“They both arrived around the same time an hour or so after you and your brother left.” Molly says placing three cups of tea down in front of us. “Everyone’s in bed of course now where I expect you three shortly.”

I watch leaning into Ariana quietly sipping my tea as Molly serves Harry some reheated onion soup that we had for dinner and some bread. She then sits down across from us.

“So you two persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?”

Harry nods, his mouth so full of hot soup that he cannot speak.

“Yeah… I’m not really sure what to make of him.” I say.

“He taught Arthur and me,” says Molly. “He was at Hogwarts for ages, started around the same time as Dumbledore, I think. Did you like him?”

Harry gives a noncommittal jerk of his head for his mouth is full of bread, and I shrug my shoulders.

“I know what you mean,” says Molly, nodding wisely. “Of course he can be charming when he wants to be, but Arthur’s never liked him much. The Ministry’s littered with Slughorn’s old favorites, he was always good at giving leg ups, but he never had much time for Arthur — didn’t seem to think he was enough of a highflier. Well, that just shows you, even Slughorn makes mistakes. I don’t know whether Ron or Jamie’s told you in any of their letters — it’s only just happened — but Arthur’s been promoted!”

“Yeah its really quite neat Harry!” I say getting excited for Arthur.

Harry swallows a large amount of very hot soup. “That’s great!” he gasps.

“It couldn’t happen to a better person.” Ariana complements.

“You two are sweet,” beams Molly. “Yes, Rufus Scrimgeour has set up several new offices in response to the present situation, and Arthur’s heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It’s a big job, he’s got ten people reporting to him now!”

“What exactly — ?”

“Well, you see, in all the panic about You-Know-Who, odd things have been cropping up for sale everywhere, things that are supposed to guard against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. You can imagine the kind of thing — so-called protective potions that are really gravy with a bit of bubotuber pus added, or instructions for defensive jinxes that actually make your ears fall off. . . . Well, in the main the perpetrators are just people like Mundungus Fletcher, who’ve never done an honest day’s work in their lives and are taking advantage of how frightened everybody is, but every now and then something really nasty turns up. The other day Arthur confiscated a box of cursed Sneakoscopes that were almost certainly planted by a Death Eater. So you see, it’s a very important job, and I tell him it’s just silly to miss dealing with spark plugs and toasters and all the rest of that Muggle rubbish.” Molly ends her speech with a stern look.

“I like that Arthur is interested in muggle stuff.” I say taking another sip of tea.

“Well that’s because you are a daughter after your father’s own heart.” Molly says with a slightly reproachful look on her face, but her eyes are soft and shiny. That’s another difference that’s been going on this summer; Molly and Arthur have been referring to themselves as our parents much more.

Sometimes it still catches me by surprise but the majority of the time, it makes me very happy to hear them call me their daughter.

“Is Mr. Weasley still at work?” Harry asks.

“Yes, he is. As a matter of fact, he’s a tiny bit late. . . . He said he’d be back around midnight. . . .”

She turns to look at a large clock that is perched awkwardly on top of a pile of sheets in the washing basket at the end of the table. It has eleven hands now, each inscribed with the name of a family member, and usually hangs on the Weasleys’ sitting room wall, though its current position suggests that Molly has taken to carrying it around the house with her. Every single one of its nine hands is now pointing at “mortal peril.”

She’s been hugging that clock to her practically all summer long.

“It’s been like that for a while now,” says Molly, in an unconvincingly casual voice, “ever since You-Know-Who came back into the open. I suppose everybody’s in mortal danger now. . . . I don’t think it can be just our family . . . but I don’t know anyone else who’s got a clock like this, so I can’t check. Oh!”

With a sudden exclamation she points at the clock’s face. Arthur’s hand has switched to “traveling.”

“He’s coming!”

And sure enough, a moment later there is a knock on the back door. Molly jumps up and hurries to it; with one hand on the doorknob and her face pressed against the wood she calls softly, “Arthur, is that you?”

“Yes,” comes Arthur’s weary voice. “But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!”

“Oh, honestly . . .”

“Molly!”

“All right, all right . . . What is your dearest ambition?”

“To find out how airplanes stay up.”

Molly nods and turns the doorknob, but apparently Arthur is holding tight to it on the other side, because the door remains firmly shut.

“Molly! I’ve got to ask you your question first!”

“Arthur, really, this is just silly. . . .”

“What do you like me to call you when we’re alone together?”

I choke on the bit of tea that I was currently sipping, and Harry clatters his spoon in his bowl. As Ariana pats my back trying to sooth my coughing, I can tell that Molly’s cheeks are flaming even from the low lamplight around the table.

“Mollywobbles,” whispers a mortified Molly into the crack at the edge of the door.

“Correct,” says Arthur. “Now you can let me in.”

“I so didn’t need to know that.” I whimper as soon as I’m able to inhale correctly again, and Ariana chuckles softly.

Molly opens the door to reveal her husband, a thin, balding, red-haired wizard wearing horn-rimmed spectacles and a long and dusty traveling cloak.

“I still don’t see why we have to go through that every time you come home,” says Moly, still pink in the face as she helps her husband out of his cloak. “I mean, a Death Eater might have forced the answer out of you before impersonating you!”

“I know, dear, but it’s Ministry procedure, and I have to set an example. Something smells good — onion soup?”

“Luka and I just came right on in.” I supply unhelpfully. Arthur swings a pained but fond look at me.

“That because you have a fondness of disobeying Ministry edicts.” He says wearily. I shrug my shoulders at that.

“I can’t help it if last year has ruined my opinion of our government.” I say, ignoring the pained look that he’s giving me, though I do see a faint hint of pride from him at my fierce statement.

Arthur turns his attention to our new guests. “Hello Ariana. Harry! We didn’t expect you until morning!”

They shake hands, and Arthur drops into the chair beside Harry as Molly sets a bowl of soup in front of him too.

“Thanks, Molly. It’s been a tough night. Some idiot’s started selling Metamorph-Medals. Just sling them around your neck and you’ll be able to change your appearance at will. A hundred thousand disguises, all for ten Galleons!”

“And what really happens when you put them on?”

“Mostly you just turn a fairly unpleasant orange color, but a couple of people have also sprouted tentaclelike warts all over their bodies. As if St. Mungo’s didn’t have enough to do already!”

“It sounds like the sort of thing Fred and George would find funny,” says Molly hesitantly. “Are you sure — ?”

“Of course I am!” says Arthur. “The boys wouldn’t do anything like that now, not when people are desperate for protection!”

“So is that why you’re late, Metamorph-Medals?”

“No, we got wind of a nasty backfiring jinx down in Elephant and Castle, but luckily the Magical Law Enforcement Squad had sorted it out by the time we got there. . . .”

Harry stifles a yawn behind his hand and its quick to set off a chain reaction of yawns in Ariana and me.

“Bed,” says an undeceived Molly at once. “I’ve got Fred and George’s room all ready for you, you’ll have it to yourself Harry.”

“Why, where are they?” He asks.

“Oh, they’re in Diagon Alley, sleeping in the little flat over their joke shop as they’re so busy,” I explain.

“I must say, I didn’t approve at first, but they do seem to have a bit of a flair for business! Come on, dear, your trunk’s already up there.” Molly says taking over again.

“’Night, Mr. Weasley,” says Harry, pushing back his chair. Crookshanks leaps lightly from his lap and slinks out of the room.

“G’night, Harry,” says Arthur.

I get up and give him a hug goodnight, while Ariana bids them goodnight as well.

“Jamie. There’s a bed for Ariana next to Hermione’s, I better find that you’re both at opposite sides of the room and in your own beds when I come check on you.” Molly says with a stern look. Heat races to my cheeks, and I start spluttering indignantly. Ariana’s cheeks are red too.

“Molly dear I do believe that you are presuming a little too much…” Arthur says awkwardly.

“Arthur none of our sons ever had their girlfriends living in their rooms before. I thought this was more appropriate than having Ariana sleep on the couch.” Molly argues.

“There are two other girls in the room besides us— besides I sleep on the top bunk.” I say not even wanting to think exactly how Molly’s mind is working.

Not waiting to give them more opportunities to embarrass me, I grab Ariana’s hand and quickly lead her up the stairs to my room. I stop outside the doorway though to look at her.

“What’s wrong?” She asks slightly puzzled at our sudden halt.

Before I can change my mind, I lean forward and brush my lips against hers. Ariana sighs happily, and returns the kiss before pulling apart.

“That’s what I wanted to do when I first saw you.” I whisper, and the smile on her face stays with me even in my dreams.

* * *

I’m wake the next morning to the sounds of spluttering from my sister as Crookshanks decided sometime last night that sleeping on Ginny’s face would be a good idea. Hermione is up and apologizing profusely for her cat to a mutinous looking redhead, while Ariana merely pets the perturbed ginger cat.

“And this is why I have the top bunk.” I say with a grin. Ginny sends a scalding glare my way, and I can’t help but grin at her in reply. The four of us troop down to the breakfast table in various states of wakefulness, to get some food into our system. Fleur is again at the table looking like she had gotten a hair stylist to do her hair that morning.

“Its not fair I swear.” Ariana grumbles under her breath as she slips onto the bench next to me. I can’t help but let a faint grin go at that.

“What do you think it’s been like living with her all this time, there’s just multiple levels of unfairness here.” I say. Ron comes stumbling down the stairs into the kitchen collapsing into a seat next to Hermione while sleepily reaching for some of the food that is already on the table. I glance around for Luka but I don’t see him at the moment.

Molly suddenly sends seven portions of porridge into bowls and they fly to us at the table. The last sits in front of an empty chair where Luka should be sitting. I can hear her grumbling something under her breath about that boy being too stupid and stubborn for his own good.

We eat breakfast in relative silence since everyone has just woken up, Fleur is the only one of us besides Molly who is really awake, so she keeps up a nonstop stream about Bill and their wedding. I think that I may be losing brain cells, but I manage to entertain myself by watching Ginny spit out ginger cat hairs from time to time, looking very scandalized and upset.

Only near the end of breakfast does Molly finally clue everyone else in on the fact that there is a certain Boy Wonder actually in the house. “What! Harry’s here and you didn’t think to tell us?” Ron demands jumping to his feet, while starting to charge up the stairs.

“Ron! Seriously!” Hermione says scrambling out of her seat as well and after him. I give a frazzled look at Ariana, but there’s only a smile on her face.

“Go on.” She says softly nudging me lightly in the side to go after my friends.

“Ari…” I say not really sure if I should go or not.

“We’ll have more than enough time to spend together Jame, your friends are getting together for the first time in a while, you should be there.” Ariana says pointedly.

I smile at her quickly lean in to peck her cheek. “You’re the best, I knew there was some reason that I am with you.” I say with a cheeky grin. Ariana rolls her eyes at me, as I quickly leave the room and charge up the stairs after my brother and friend. I manage to catch up to the two of them just as Ron barges into Fred and George’s room making the door slam loudly.

The loud noise causes Harry to flail loudly blinded by sleep and his missing glasses.

“Wuzzgoinon?” Harry mumbles flailing around for his glasses.

“We didn’t know you were here already!” Ron says excitedly, and hits Harry on top of his head.

“Ron, don’t hit him!” says Hermione reproachfully.

“Yeah Harry needs all the brains that he can get.” I chuckle, grinning at the unimpressed look that Hermione is now shooting my way.

Harry finally manages to get his glasses on his face. He looks around at the three of us with a slightly confused expression still on his face.

“All right?” Ron asks him.

“Never been better,” says Harry, rubbing the top of his head and slumping back onto his pillows. “You?”

“Not bad,” says Ron, pulling over a cardboard box and sitting on it. “When did you get here? Mum’s only just told us!”

“About one o’clock this morning.”

“Were the Muggles all right? Did they treat you okay?”

“Same as usual,” says Harry, as Hermione perches herself on the edge of his bed, “they didn’t talk to me much, but I like it better that way. How’re you, Hermione?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” says Hermione, who is scrutinizing Harry as though he is sickening for something.

“What’s the time? Have I missed breakfast?” Harry asks abruptly.

“Don’t worry about that, Molly’s bringing you up a tray; she reckons you look underfed,” I say, rolling my eyes. “So, what’s been going on?”

“Nothing much, I’ve just been stuck at my aunt and uncle’s, haven’t I?”

“Come off it!” says Ron. “You’ve been off with Dumbledore and the twins!”

“It wasn’t that exciting. He just wanted us to help him persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name’s Horace Slughorn.”

“Oh,” says Ron, looking disappointed. “We thought —”

Hermione flashes a warning look at Ron, and Ron changes tack at top speed.

“— we thought it’d be something like that.”

“You did?” says Harry, amused.

“Sure right.” I say rolling my eyes.

“Yeah . . . yeah, now Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, don’t we? So, er, what’s he like?”

“He looks a bit like a walrus, and he used to be Head of Slytherin,” I say sticking my tongue out. “Something wrong, Hermione?” Harry asks.

She was watching Harry as though expecting strange symptoms to manifest themselves at any moment. She rearranges her features hastily in an unconvincing smile.

“No, of course not! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he’ll be a good teacher?”

“Dunno,” says Harry. “He can’t be worse than Umbridge, can he?”

“A Hippogriff turd would be better than Umbridge. That’s not saying much.” I point out crossing my arms over my chest and sinking down onto the bed across from Harry.

“I know someone who’s worse than Umbridge,” says a voice from the doorway. Ginny slouches into the room, looking irritable. “Hi, Harry.”

“What’s up with you?” Ron asks.

“Besides Crookshanks to the face.” I supply unhelpfully.

“It’s her,” says Ginny, plonking herself down on Harry’s bed. “She’s driving me mad.”

“What’s she done now?” asks Hermione sympathetically.

“That was fast, it couldn’t have been more than five minutes.” I say looking down at my watch.

“It’s the way she talks to me — you’d think I was about three!” Ginny cries. I wince in sympathy. I know that Fleur isn’t the best, but we honestly just need to find some way to coexist with her.

“I know,” says Hermione, dropping her voice. “She’s so full of herself.”

“Can’t you two lay off her for five seconds?” Ron demands angrily.

“Oh come on Ron just cause you like her doesn’t mean you can overlook glaringly obviously annoying acts like this.” I say with a sigh.

“Oh, that’s right, defend her,” snaps Ginny as well. “We all know you can’t get enough of her.”

Harry says, “Who are you — ?”

But his question is answered before he can finish it. The bedroom door flies open again, and Harry instinctively yanks the bedcovers up to his chin so hard that Hermione and Ginny slide off the bed onto the floor.

A young woman is standing in the doorway, a woman of such breathtaking beauty that the room seems to have become strangely airless. She is tall and willowy with long blonde hair and appears to emanate a faint, silvery glow. To complete this vision of perfection, she is carrying a heavily laden breakfast tray.

“Here we go.” I say softly smiling at the other blond who slips in behind her and comes over to me, sitting down next to me.

“I couldn’t take another minute.” Ariana mumbles quietly.

“’Arry,” Fleur says in a throaty voice. “Eet ’as been too long!”

As she sweeps over the threshold towards him, Molly is revealed, bobbing along in her wake, looking rather cross.

“There was no need to bring up the tray, I was just about to do it myself!”

“Eet was no trouble,” says Fleur Delacour, setting the tray across Harry’s knees and then swooping to kiss him on each cheek. “I ’ave been longing to see ’im. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about ’Arry Potter, and Luka. She will be delighted to see you again.”

“Oh . . . is she here too?” Harry croaks.

“No, no, silly boy,” says Fleur with a tinkling laugh, “I mean next summer, when we — but do you not know?”

Her great blue eyes widen and she looks reproachfully at Molly, who says, “We hadn’t got around to telling him yet.”

Fleur turns back to Harry, swinging her silvery sheet of hair so that it whips Molly across the face. I clench my hands into fists, she shouldn’t be treating Molly that way. Ariana quickly wriggles her hand into mine breaking apart the fist and holding my hand tightly. She rubs her thumb across the back of it softly calming me down.

“Bill and I are going to be married!” Fleur declares with a smile.

“Oh,” says Harry blankly. Molly, Hermione, Ginny, Ariana, and I are all determinedly avoiding one another’s gaze. “Wow. Er — congratulations!”

She swoops down upon him and kisses him again.

“Bill is very busy at ze moment, working very ’ard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my Eenglish, so he brought me ’ere for a few days to get to know ’is family properly. I was so pleased to ’ear you would be coming — zere isn’t much to do ’ere, unless you like cooking and chickens! Well — enjoy your breakfast, ’Arry!”

With these words she turns gracefully and seems to float out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

“A few days turned into quite a long time if you ask me. If a few days is this long, then please kill me now, I won’t make it to next summer.” I say with a groan. Molly swipes her dish rag at me, but its half heartedly.

Molly then makes a noise that sounds like “tchah!”

“Mum hates her,” says Ginny quietly.

“I do not hate her!” says Molly in a cross whisper. “I just think they’ve hurried into this engagement, that’s all!”

“They’ve known each other a year,” says Ron, who looks oddly groggy and is staring at the closed door. Boys I swear.

“Well, that’s not very long! I know why it’s happened, of course. It’s all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they’re rushing all sorts of decisions they’d normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and center —”

“Including you and Dad,” says Ginny slyly. I can’t help but grin at that.

“Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting?” says Molly. “Whereas Bill and Fleur . . . well . . . what have they really got in common? He’s a hardworking, down-to-earth sort of person, whereas she’s —”

“A cow,” says Ginny, nodding while I snort in laughter. “But Bill’s not that down-to-earth. He’s a Curse-Breaker, isn’t he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour. . . . I expect that’s why he’s gone for Phlegm.”

“Stop calling her that, Ginny,” says Molly sharply, as Harry, Hermione, Ariana, and I laugh. “Well, I’d better get on. . . . Eat your eggs while they’re warm, Harry.”

Looking careworn, she leaves the room. Ron still seems slightly punch-drunk; he is shaking his head experimentally like a dog trying to rid its ears of water.

“Don’t you get used to her if she’s staying in the same house?” Harry asks.

“Well, you do,” says Ron, “but if she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like then . . .”

“It’s pathetic,” says Hermione furiously, striding away from Ron as far as she can go and turning to face him with her arms folded once she has reached the wall.

“You don’t really want her around forever?” Ginny asks Ron incredulously. When he merely shrugs, she says, “Well, Mum’s going to put a stop to it if she can, I bet you anything.”

“Best of luck to her, but I have a feeling that we’re not going to get rid of this one.” I say with a shrug leaning into Ariana, reveling in the closeness between the two of us. I think I could never get enough of this feeling.

“How’s she going to manage that?” asks Harry.

“She keeps trying to get Tonks round for dinner. I think she’s hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead. I hope he does, I’d much rather have her in the family.” Ginny says.

“Yeah, that’ll work,” says Ron sarcastically. “Listen, no bloke in his right mind’s going to fancy Tonks when Fleur’s around. I mean, Tonks is okay-looking when she isn’t doing stupid things to her hair and her nose, but —”

“She’s a damn sight nicer than Phlegm,” says Ginny.

“And she’s more intelligent, she’s an Auror!” says Hermione from the corner.

“Fleur’s not stupid, she was good enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament,” says Harry.

“Not you as well!” says Hermione bitterly.

“I suppose you like the way Phlegm says ‘’Arry,’ do you?” asks Ginny scornfully.

I just keep my mouth shut and sink further into my girlfriend. Some things are just not worth fighting.

“No,” says Harry, looking like he wished he hadn’t spoken, “I was just saying, Phlegm — I mean, Fleur —”

“I’d much rather have Tonks in the family,” says Ginny. “At least she’s a laugh.”

“She hasn’t been much of a laugh lately,” says Ron. “Every time I’ve seen her she’s looked more like Moaning Myrtle.”

“Everyone has the right to be sad.” Ariana points out as she shifts me closer.

“That’s not fair,” snaps Hermione. “She still hasn’t got over what happened . . . you know . . . I mean, he was her cousin!”

“Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!” says Ron. “Sirius was in Azkaban half her life and before that their families never met —”

“That’s not the point,” says Hermione. “She thinks it was her fault he died!”

“How does she work that one out?” asks Harry.

“Well, she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, wasn’t she? I think she feels that if only she had finished her off, Bellatrix couldn’t have killed Sirius.”

“That’s stupid,” says Ron.

“It’s survivor’s guilt,” says Hermione. “I know Lupin’s tried to talk her round, but she’s still really down. She’s actually having trouble with her Metamorphosing!”

“With her — ?”

“She can’t change her appearance like she used to,” explains Hermione. “I think her powers must have been affected by shock, or something.”

“I would be feeling crummy too if I was in her shoes. Losing people sucks, especially if you can do something to stop it.” I say trying to explain the feeling that had come over me many times before, its part of the reason why I jumped in front of that cutting curse. I lower one of my hands to rub the spot where the scar would have been if Madam Pomfrey didn’t manage to get me patched up. Sometimes I swear that I can still feel the cutting stinging pain.

Ariana grabs that hand, and brings it to rest. I glance up at her, and see by the dark look in her eyes, that she’s thinking back on the same incident that I am. I just let my breath out and lean my head against her shoulder.

“I didn’t know that could happen,” says Harry.

“Nor did I,” says Hermione, “but I suppose if you’re really depressed . . .”

The door opens again and Molly pops her head in. “Ginny,” she whispers, “come downstairs and help me with the lunch.”

“I’m talking to this lot!” says Ginny, outraged.

“Now!” says Molly.

“I can help you Mrs. Weasley.” Ariana says quickly and untangles herself from me. I gaze after her longingly, but I understand that she wants to stay on Molly’s good side.

“Thank you Ariana, you’re a gem. Now Ginny!” Molly says as she withdraws.

“She only wants me there so she doesn’t have to be alone with Phlegm!” says Ginny crossly. She swings her long red hair around in a very good imitation of Fleur and prances across the room with her arms held aloft like a ballerina.

“You lot had better come down quickly too,” she says as she leaves with Ariana.

Harry takes advantage of the temporary silence to eat more breakfast. Hermione is peering into Fred and George’s boxes, though every now and then she casts sideways looks at Harry. Ron, who is now helping himself to Harry’s toast, is still gazing dreamily at the door. I just flop back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. So much has changed now, but for once it’s not something that’s bad or scary. I almost don’t know what to do with this full, warm, and happy feeling in my chest.

“What’s this?” Hermione asks eventually, holding up what looks like a small telescope.

“Dunno,” says Ron, “but if Fred and George’ve left it here, it’s probably not ready for the joke shop yet, so be careful.”

“Your mum said the shop’s going well,” says Harry. “Said Fred and George have got a real flair for business.”

“That’s an understatement,” said Ron. “They’re raking in the Galleons! I can’t wait to see the place, we haven’t been to Diagon Alley yet, because Mum says Dad’s got to be there for extra security and he’s been really busy at work, but it sounds excellent.”

“I know they keep bringing back some of their finished products. I can’t wait to see what we financed Harry.” I say with a grin pushing up on my elbows.

“And what about Percy?” asks Harry; the third-eldest Weasley brother had fallen out with the rest of the family. “Is he talking to your mum and dad again?”

I scowl at the mention of his name. I still hate that git. I have our last meeting playing through my head when I informed him that we were now related.

“Nope,” says Ron.

“Good riddance.” I say closing my eyes.

“But he knows your dad was right all along now about Voldemort being back —”

“Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right,” says Hermione. “I heard him telling your mum, Ron.”

“Sounds like the sort of mental thing Dumbledore would say,” says Ron.

“He’s going to be giving me private lessons this year,” says Harry conversationally.

Ron chokes on his bit of toast, Hermione gasps, and I bolt upright on the bed. He didn’t tell me this.

“You kept that quiet!” says Ron.

“I only just remembered,” says Harry honestly. “He told me last night in your broom shed.”

“Blimey . . . private lessons with Dumbledore!” says Ron, looking impressed. “I wonder why he’s . . . ?”

His voice tails away. Ron, Hermione, and I exchange looks. Harry lays down his knife and fork, and says, “I don’t know exactly why he’s going to be giving me lessons, but I think it must be because of the prophecy.”

None of us speak. He continues, still speaking to his fork, “You know, the one they were trying to steal at the Ministry.”

“Nobody knows what it said, though,” says Hermione quickly. “It got smashed.”

“Although the Prophet says —” begins Ron, but Hermione says, “Shh!”

“The Prophet’s got it right,” says Harry, looking up at the three of us with a great effort: Hermione seems frightened and Ron amazed, while I’m not sure exactly what I feel. “That glass ball that smashed wasn’t the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore’s office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said,” Harry takes a deep breath, “it looks like I’m the one who’s got to finish off Voldemort. . . . At least, it said neither of us could live while the other survives.”

The four of us gaze at one another in silence for a moment. Then there is a loud bang and Hermione vanishes behind a puff of black smoke.

“Hermione!” shouts Harry, Ron, and me; the breakfast tray slides to the floor with a crash.

Hermione emerges, coughing, out of the smoke, clutching the telescope and sporting a brilliantly purple black eye.

“I squeezed it and it — it punched me!” she gasps. I make my way over to her to carefully look over my best friend’s face, though I’m trying to fight off the smile that wants to break free.

And sure enough, we now see a tiny fist on a long spring protruding from the end of the telescope.

“Don’t worry,” says Ron, who is plainly trying not to laugh, “Mum’ll fix that, she’s good at healing minor injuries —”

“Oh well, never mind that now!” says Hermione hastily. “Harry, oh, Harry . . .”

She sits down on the edge of his bed again.

“We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry . . . Obviously, we didn’t want to say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this. . . . Oh, Harry . . .” She stares at him, then whispers, “Are you scared?”

“Not as much as I was,” says Harry. “When I first heard it, I was . . . but now, it seems as though I always knew I’d have to face him in the end. . . .”

“Well despite anything Harry, I’ll be by your side. Until the end.” I say seriously, and Harry looks into my eyes for a long moment before nodding his head. We’ve been through too much together for this to end any other way than standing side by side at the end and fighting until there is nothing more to fight for.

“I knew that I wouldn’t be going anywhere without you.” He says with a slight smile.

“Same goes for us too Harry.” Ron says, with Hermione nodding her head along seriously.

“When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he might be telling you something or showing you something to do with the prophecy,” says Ron eagerly switching back to something lighter. “And we were kind of right, weren’t we? He wouldn’t be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner, wouldn’t waste his time — he must think you’ve got a chance!”

“That’s true,” says Hermione. “I wonder what he’ll teach you, Harry? Really advanced defensive magic, probably . . . powerful countercurses . . . anti-jinxes . . .”

I get a little lost in Hermione’s excited babble to be truthfully honest. I love the girl to death but sometimes she needs to learn to take a breath.

“. . . and evasive enchantments generally,” concludes Hermione. “Well, at least you know one lesson you’ll be having this year, that’s one more than Ron and me. I wonder when our O.W.L. results will come?”

“Can’t be long now, it’s been a month,” says Ron.

“Hang on,” says Harry, as another part of last night’s conversation comes back to him. “I think Dumbledore said our O.W.L. results would be arriving today!”

“Today?” shrieks Hermione. “Today? But why didn’t you — oh my God — you should have said —”

She leaps to her feet.

“I’m going to see whether any owls have come. . . .”

Great I’m going to get to see the results of my O.W.L.s. that is not something that I’m looking forward to.

But when the rest of us arrive downstairs ten minutes later, fully dressed and carrying Harry’s empty breakfast tray, it is to find Hermione sitting at the kitchen table in great agitation, while Molly tries to lessen her resemblance to half a panda.

“It just won’t budge,” Molly says anxiously, standing over Hermione with her wand in her hand and a copy of The Healer’s Helpmate open at “Bruises, Cuts, and Abrasions.” “This has always worked before, I just can’t understand it.”

“It’ll be Fred and George’s idea of a funny joke, making sure it can’t come off,” says Ginny.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to get it off eventually Hermione.” Ariana says trying to sound supportive though I can hear the laughter in her voice.

“But it’s got to come off!” squeaks Hermione. “I can’t go around looking like this forever!”

“You won’t, dear, we’ll find an antidote, don’t worry,” says Molly soothingly.

“Bill told me ’ow Fred and George are very amusing! I must agree.” says Fleur, smiling serenely.

“Yes, I can hardly breathe for laughing,” snaps Hermione.

She jumped up and starts walking round and round the kitchen, twisting her fingers together.

“Mrs. Weasley, you’re quite, quite sure no owls have arrived this morning?”

“Yes, dear, I’d have noticed,” says Mrs. Weasley patiently. “But it’s barely nine, there’s still plenty of time. . . .”

“I know I messed up Ancient Runes,” mutters Hermione feverishly, “I definitely made at least one serious mistranslation. And the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought Transfiguration went all right at the time, but looking back —”

“Hermione, will you shut up, you’re not the only one who’s nervous!” barks Ron.

“And when you’ve got your ten ‘Outstanding’ O.W.L.s . . .”

“Plus you’re making me dizzy.” I add in, and Ariana smirks at me from over by the sink. I make my way over to her, feeling a pull like she’s a magnet and I’m helpless to her draw.

“So you worried about yours?” I ask her. Ariana cocks her head and that makes a sheet of golden hair fall to the side, and I’m mesmerized for a moment, though I snap out of it, not wanting to look like Ron when Fleur is in the room.

“A little bit, but I feel fairly confident about everything that I studied. What about you?” She asks me. I shrug my shoulders but bite down on my lip anxiously.

“I dunno… school’s not really my thing you know.” I say, and she nods her head. She reaches out and grasps my hand. I smile when I feel the reassuring squeeze.

“Well school might not be your thing Jamie Pendragon but I happen to know that you are undeniably smart. So in the end there’s nothing to worry about.” Ariana says simply with a bright smile. I grin at her in thanks, before I catch Ginny out of the corner of my eyes making swooning motions, and giggling.

“I swear that girl is asking for a good kicking.” I say, though there is no malice in my voice. Ariana glances over and catches Ginny making kissy faces now. She merely rolls her eyes at her, before leaning into me, and giving me a quick kiss on the lips, not mindful of any of the others in the room.

Unfortunately we’re brought back to reality by the whistle from Ginny and over the top clapping from everyone else. Molly has a blush going on her face, which is no match for me, but then I hear a scoff, and my gaze finally settles on Luka who had slinked into the room.

I know the second that Ariana has spotted him for her body tenses next to mine. She gives me a conflicted look, and I smile at her understandingly. “Go on.” I say releasing her hand, and allowing her to go after my brother and one of her best friends.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t!” says Hermione, flapping her hands hysterically at Ron. “I know I’ve failed everything!”

I guess that our interruption was not enough to stave off her freak out.

“What happens if we fail?” Harry asks the room at large, but it is again Hermione who answers.

“We discuss our options with our Head of House, I asked Professor McGonagall at the end of last term.”

“At Beauxbatons,” says Fleur complacently, “we ’ad a different way of doing things. I think eet was better. We sat our examinations after six years of study, not five, and then —”

Fleur’s words are drowned in a scream. Hermione is pointing through the kitchen window. Six black specks are clearly visible in the sky, growing larger all the time.

“They’re definitely owls,” says Ron hoarsely, jumping up to join Hermione at the window.

“And there are six of them,” says Harry, hastening to her other side.

“One for each of us,” says Hermione in a terrified whisper. “Oh no . . . oh no . . . oh no . . .”

She grips both Harry and Ron tightly around the elbows. I slowly make my way over to them as Luka and Ariana appear back in the room both of them looking rather stormy.

The owls are flying directly at the Burrow, six handsome tawnies, each of which, it becomes clear as they fly lower over the path leading up to the house, is carrying a large square envelope.

“Oh no!” squeals Hermione.

Molly squeezes past us and opens the kitchen window. All the owls soar through it and land on the table in a neat line. All six of them lift their right legs.

I move forward. The letter addressed to me is tied to the leg of the owl in the near the right side. I untie it with fumbling fingers. To my left, Ron is trying to detach his own results; to his right, Hermione’s hands are shaking so much she is making her whole owl tremble.

Nobody in the kitchen speaks. At last, I manage to detach the envelope. I slit it open quickly and unfold the parchment inside.

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS

 

“Pass Grades OUTSTANDING (O)         EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS (E) ACCEPTABLE (A)             

Fail Grades    POOR (P)      DREADFUL (D)     TROLL (T)

 

Jamie Alexis Pendragon has achieved:

Astronomy       A     

Care of Magical Creatures                 E     

Charms             O     

Defense Against the Dark Arts         O     

Divination        P      

Herbology         E     

History of Magic          A     

Potions              E     

Transfiguration            E

 

I heave a breath of relief. I didn’t manage to fail anything, (Divination doesn’t count in my book), which makes me extremely happy. I make my way over to Ariana.

“Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cares about them?” Ron says happily to Harry. “Here — swap —”

“How’d you do?” I ask my girlfriend leaning over to look at her paper. She passed everything and got Os in Transfiguration, Potions, and Herbology.

“Fantastic Ari!” I say with a bright smile, as she returns it, while grabbing my own paper. Her smile widens as she looks over my results.

“Knew you were going to break the grading scale in Charms. This is marvelous Jamie.” She says with a grin while kissing my cheek. I feel heat rush to my cheeks and scuff my feet on the floor a little.

“Knew you’d be top at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” says Ron, punching Harry on the shoulder. “We’ve done all right, haven’t we?”

“Well done!” says Molly proudly, ruffling Ron’s hair. “Seven O.W.L.s, that’s more than Fred and George got together! And Luka dear you did marvelously all Outstandings except two. Jamie love hand it over.”

I give Molly my report and a smile splits her face when she sees my results. “Well done.” She says giving me a hug.

“Hermione?” says Ginny tentatively, for Hermione still hasn’t turned around. “How did you do?”

“I — not bad,” says Hermione in a small voice.

“Oh, come off it,” says Ron, striding over to her and whipping her results out of her hand. “Yep — nine ‘Outstandings’ and one ‘Exceeds Expectations’ at Defense Against the Dark Arts.” He looked down at her, half-amused, half-exasperated.  “You’re actually disappointed, aren’t you?”

Hermione shook her head, but Harry laughed.

“Well, we’re N.E.W.T. students now!” grins Ron. “Mum, are there any more sausages?”

I stand there leaning against the kitchen counter with Ariana at my side watching my large family and friends interacting with each other, talking loudly and happily about test results.

“You okay Jame?” Ariana asks me softly.

“I don’t know Ari… I just got this feeling that I can’t shake. Its been with me ever since the end of last year.” I say.

“What kind of feeling?” She asks me beginning to look concerned. I force a small smile onto my face to make her feel better.

“Nothing bad honestly, just that we’re in the calm. The calm before the storm.” I admit. We both glance out the window at the sunny sky. That’s the trouble with weather, it can be tricky deceptive.


	4. Draco's Detour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 4- Draco’s Detour

 

We remain within the confines of the Burrow’s garden over the next few weeks. Spending most of our days playing two-a-side Quidditch in the Weasleys’ orchard (Harry and me against Ron and Ginny) and our evenings eating triple helpings of everything Molly puts in front of us. (Well the gross amounts of food are mainly courtesy of Harry and Ron.

It would have been a happy, peaceful holiday had it not been for the stories of disappearances, odd accidents, even of deaths now appearing almost daily in the Prophet. Sometimes Bill and Arthur bring home news before it even reaches the paper. To Molly’s displeasure, Harry’s sixteenth birthday celebrations are marred by grisly tidings brought to the party by Remus Lupin, who is looking gaunt and grim, his brown hair streaked liberally with gray, his clothes more ragged and patched than ever.

“There have been another couple of dementor attacks,” he announces, as Molly passes him a large slice of birthday cake. “And they’ve found Igor Karkaroff’s body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it — well, frankly, I’m surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters; Sirius’s brother, Regulus, only managed a few days as far as I can remember.”

“Yes, well,” says Molly, frowning, “perhaps we should talk about something diff —”

“Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?” asks Bill, who is being plied with wine by Fleur. “The man who ran —”

“— the ice-cream place in Diagon Alley?” Harry interrupts, with an unpleasant, hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. “He used to give me free ice creams. What’s happened to him?”

“Dragged off, by the look of his place.”

I feel a hollow pit open up in my stomach. What could Florean have ever done to them? I can remember getting ice cream there for as long as I’ve been alive for.

“Why?” asks Ron, while Molly pointedly glares at Bill.

“Who knows? He must’ve upset them somehow. He was a good man, Florean.”

“Talking of Diagon Alley,” says Arthur, “looks like Ollivander’s gone too.”

“The wandmaker?” says Ginny, looking startled.

“That’s horrible.” Ariana says paling a few degrees, and I reach for her hand under the table, giving it a strong squeeze to try and reassure her.

“That’s the one. Shop’s empty. No sign of a struggle. No one knows whether he left voluntarily or was kidnapped.”

“But wands — what’ll people do for wands?” I ask suddenly.

“They’ll make do with other makers,” says Lupin. “But Ollivander was the best, and if the other side have got him it’s not so good for us.”

The day after this rather gloomy birthday tea, our letters and booklists arrive from Hogwarts. Harry’s includes a surprise: He has been made Quidditch Captain. That makes me laugh out loud with joy.

“Well looks like I’m going to have to start calling you Captain Boy Wonder now.” I say with a happy grin. Harry gives me a bewildered, yet happy look back.

“That gives you equal status with prefects!” cries Hermione happily. “You can use our special bathroom now and everything!”

“Wow, I remember when Charlie wore one of these,” says Ron, examining the badge with glee. “Harry, this is so cool, you’re my Captain — if you let me back on the team, I suppose, ha ha. . . .”

“Well, I don’t suppose we can put off a trip to Diagon Alley much longer now you’ve got these,” sighs Molly, looking down Ron, Luka’s, and my booklist. “We’ll go on Saturday as long as your father doesn’t have to go into work again. I’m not going there without him.”

“Mum, d’you honestly think You-Know-Who’s going to be hiding behind a bookshelf in Flourish and Blotts?” sniggers Ron.

“Fortescue and Ollivander went on holiday, did they?” says Molly, firing up at once. “If you think security’s a laughing matter you can stay behind and I’ll get your things myself —”

“No, I wanna come, I want to see Fred and George’s shop!” says Ron hastily.

“Then you just buck up your ideas, young man, before I decide you’re too immature to come with us!” says Molly angrily, snatching up her clock, all eleven hands of which are still pointing at “mortal peril,” and balancing it on top of a pile of just-laundered towels. “And that goes for returning to Hogwarts as well!”

Ron turns to stare incredulously at Harry and me as she hoists the laundry basket and the teetering clock into her arms and storms out of the room.

“Blimey . . . you can’t even make a joke round here anymore. . . .”

“You have to pick the right thing to joke about.” I say shaking my head at Ron’s lack of tact when it comes to his mum.

But Ron is careful not to be flippant about Voldemort over the next few days. Saturday dawns without any more outbursts from Molly, though she seems very tense at breakfast. Bill, who will be staying at home with Fleur (much to Hermione and Ginny’s pleasure), passes a full moneybags across the table to Harry.

“Where’s mine?” demands Ron at once, his eyes wide.

“That’s already Harry’s, idiot,” says Bill. “I got it out of your vault for you, Harry, because it’s taking about five hours for the public to get to their gold at the moment, the goblins have tightened security so much. Two days ago Arkie Philpott had a Probity Probe stuck up his . . . Well, trust me, this way’s easier.”

“That has to be unhygienic.” I say with a disgusted look on my face, dropping my piece of toast that I had been eating. Ariana runs a soothing hand along my back.

“Thanks, Bill,” says Harry, pocketing his gold.

“’E is always so thoughtful,” purrs Fleur adoringly, stroking Bill’s nose. Ginny mimes vomiting into her cereal behind Fleur. Harry chokes over his cornflakes, having Ron thump him on the back. I cough loudly trying to cover up the snort that broke free, while Hermione and Ariana have big grins on their faces. Luka just rolls his eyes at the table as a whole acting like he’s better than everyone else.

It is an overcast, murky day. One of the special Ministry of Magic cars, in which we have ridden once before, is waiting for us in the front yard when we emerge from the house, pulling on our cloaks.

“It’s good Dad can get us these again,” says Ron appreciatively, stretching luxuriously as the car moves smoothly away from the Burrow, Bill and Fleur waving from the kitchen window. He, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Luka, Ariana, and I are all sitting in roomy comfort in the wide backseat.

“Don’t get used to it, it’s only because of Harry,” says Arthur over his shoulder. He and Molly are in front with the Ministry driver; the front passenger seat has obligingly stretched into what resembled a two-seater sofa. “He’s been given top-grade security status. And we’ll be joining up with additional security at the Leaky Cauldron too.”

“Well you’ve certainly gone up in the world over the last few months Boy Wonder.” I say rolling my eyes.

“At least this is better than being treated like a leper Harry.” Ariana adds trying to make Harry feel better, not worse.

“Still I’d take a fancy care any day from someone who wants to suck up.” Ron says appreciatively.

“Of course you would.” Luka and Ginny grumble at the same time. Okay that was a little too freaky for me to appreciate.

“Here you are, then,” says the driver, a surprisingly short while later, speaking for the first time as he slows in Charing Cross Road and stops outside the Leaky Cauldron. “I’m to wait for you, any idea how long you’ll be?”

“A couple of hours, I expect,” says Arthur. “Ah, good, he’s here!”

I look out the window to see what has him so excited. There are no Aurors waiting outside the inn, but instead the gigantic, black-bearded form of Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, wearing a long beaverskin coat, beaming at the sight of Harry’s face and oblivious to the startled stares of passing Muggles. Well this has certainly gotten interesting.

“Harry!” he booms, sweeping Harry into a bone-crushing hug the moment Harry steps out of the car. “Buckbeak — Witherwings, I mean — yeh should see him, Harry, he’s so happy ter be back in the open air —”

“Glad he’s pleased,” says Harry, grinning as he massages his ribs. “We didn’t know ‘security’ meant you!”

Hagrid greets the rest of us with similar treatment. He scoops Ariana and I up into a large hug together and chuckles, “I ‘new yer two ‘ere good together.”

He releases us and turns back to the rest of the bemused group as the pair of us try and regain function in our lungs.

“I know, jus’ like old times, innit? See, the Ministry wanted ter send a bunch o’ Aurors, but Dumbledore said I’d do,” says Hagrid proudly, throwing out his chest and tucking his thumbs into his pockets. “Let’s get goin’ then — after yeh, Molly, Arthur —”

The Leaky Cauldron is, for the first time in my memory, completely empty. Only Tom the landlord, wizened and toothless, remains of the old crowd. He looks up hopefully as we enter, but before he can speak, Hagrid says importantly, “Jus’ passin’ through today, Tom, sure yeh understand, Hogwarts business, yeh know.”

Tom nods gloomily and returns to wiping glasses; Harry, Hermione, Hagrid, and the rest of us walk through the bar and out into the chilly little courtyard at the back where the dustbins stood. Hagrid raises his pink umbrella and raps a certain brick in the wall, which opens at once to form an archway onto a winding cobbled street. We step through the entrance and pause, looking around.

“This is unreal.” I breathe.

“You can say that again.” Ginny says in horrified agreement.

Diagon Alley has changed. The colorful, glittering window displays of spellbooks, potion ingredients, and cauldrons are lost to view, hidden behind the large Ministry of Magic posters that have been pasted over them. Most of these somber purple posters carry blown-up versions of the security advice on the Ministry pamphlets that have been sent out over the summer, but others bear moving black-and-white photographs of Death Eaters known to be on the loose. Bellatrix Black is sneering from the front of the nearest apothecary with Augustus right nest to her. A few windows are boarded up, including those of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor.  On the other hand, a number of shabby-looking stalls have sprang up along the street. The nearest one, which has been erected outside Flourish and Blotts, under a striped, stained awning, has a cardboard sign pinned to its front:

 

AMULETS

Effective Against Werewolves, Dementors, and Inferi

 

A seedy-looking little wizard is rattling armfuls of silver symbols on chains at passersby.

“One for your little girl, madam?” he calls at Molly as we pass, leering at Ginny. “Protect her pretty neck?”

I wrap my arm around my sister and pull her closer to the group.

“If I were on duty . . .” says Arthur, glaring angrily at the amulet seller.

“Yes, but don’t go arresting anyone now, dear, we’re in a hurry,” says Molly, nervously consulting a list. “I think we’d better do Madam Malkin’s first, Hermione wants new dress robes, and Ron’s showing much too much ankle in his school robes, the Jamie has gotten so tall, and you must need new ones too, Harry, you’ve grown so much — come on, everyone —”

“Molly, it doesn’t make sense for all of us to go to Madam Malkin’s,” says Arthur. “Why don’t those four go with Hagrid, and we can go to Flourish and Blotts and get everyone’s schoolbooks?”

“I don’t know,” says Molly anxiously, clearly torn between a desire to finish the shopping quickly and the wish to stick together in a pack. “Hagrid, do you think — ?”

“Don’ fret, they’ll be fine with me, Molly,” says Hagrid soothingly, waving an airy hand the size of a dustbin lid. Molly does not look entirely convinced, but allows the separation, scurrying off toward Flourish and Blotts with her husband, Luka, Ariana, and Ginny while Harry, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and I set off for Madam Malkin’s.

“Robe buying what I always wanted to do. Maybe I should consider going into a career as a seamstress.” I say with enough sarcasm to let my friends know that I’m kidding.

I notice that many of the people who pass us have the same harried, anxious look as Molly, and that nobody is stopping to talk anymore; the shoppers stay together in their own tightly knit groups, moving intently about their business. Nobody seems to be shopping alone.

“Migh’ be a bit of a squeeze in there with all of us,” says Hagrid, stopping outside Madam Malkin’s and bending down to peer through the window. “I’ll stand guard outside, all right?”

So Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I enter the little shop together. It appears, at first glance, to be empty, but no sooner have the door swung shut behind us than we hear a familiar voice issuing from behind a rack of dress robes in spangled green and blue.

“. . . not a child, in case you haven’t noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone.”

There is a clucking noise and a voice I recognize as that of Madam Malkin, the owner, says, “Now, dear, your mother’s quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it’s nothing to do with being a child —”

“Watch where you’re sticking that pin, will you!”

A teenage boy with a pale, pointed face and white-blond hair appears from behind the rack, wearing a handsome set of dark green robes that glitter with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves. He strides to the mirror and examines himself; it is a few moments before he notices us reflected over his shoulder. His light gray eyes narrow.

“If you’re wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in,” says Draco Malfoy.

“Ah, and this reminds me why I will never go into the service industry. You can’t be selective with your clientele— even the ones who absolutely disgust you.” I retort slowly mimicking his lazy drawl. Two can play the disinterested pureblood Malfoy.

“I don’t think there’s any need for language like that!” says Madam Malkin, scurrying out from behind the clothes rack holding a tape measure and a wand.  “And I don’t want wands drawn in my shop either!” she adds hastily, for a glance toward the door has shown her Harry and Ron both standing there with their wands out and pointing at Malfoy. Hermione, who is standing slightly behind them, whispers, “No, don’t, honestly, it’s not worth it. . . .”

“Yeah, like you’d dare do magic out of school,” sneers Malfoy. “Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers.”

“Well it obviously wasn’t you Malfoy for you don’t have the guts to do anything other than hide behind your goons, who are nowhere in sight.” I say again, and watch in pleasure as he flinches.

“That’s quite enough!” says Madam Malkin sharply, looking over her shoulder for support. “Madam — please —”

Narcissa Malfoy strolls out from behind the clothes rack.

“Put those away,” she says coldly to Harry and Ron. “If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do.”

“Really?” says Harry, taking a step forward and gazing into the smoothly arrogant face that, for all its pallor, still resembles her sister’s. He is as tall as she is now. “Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?”

Madam Malkin squeals and clutches at her heart.

“Really, you shouldn’t accuse — dangerous thing to say — wands away, please!”

But Harry does not lower his wand. Narcissa Malfoy smiles unpleasantly.

“I see that being Dumbledore’s favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won’t always be there to protect you.”

Harry looks mockingly all around the shop. “Wow . . . look at that . . . he’s not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!”

Malfoy makes an angry movement towards Harry, but stumbles over his overlong robe. Ron laughs loudly. I smirk lightly, but this is no place for jokes now.

“Don’t you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!” Malfoy snarls.

“It’s all right, Draco,” says Narcissa, restraining him with her thin white fingers upon his shoulder. “I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius.”

Harry raises his wand higher.

“Harry, no!” moans Hermione, grabbing his arm and attempting to push it down by his side. “Think. . . . You mustn’t. . . . You’ll be in such trouble. . . .”

“Yeah Harry. They aren’t worth it. You should save your magic for someone who really deserves it, not someone blinded by ignorance and stupidity.” I tell him adding my hand to Hermione’s on his arm.

Madam Malkin dithers for a moment on the spot, then seems to decide to act as though nothing is happening in the hope that it won’t. She bends toward Malfoy, who is still glaring at Harry.

“I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just —”

“Ouch!” bellows Malfoy, slapping her hand away. “Watch where you’re putting your pins, woman! Mother — I don’t think I want these anymore —”

“She didn’t even touch you baby.” I mumble.

He pulls the robes over his head and throws them onto the floor at Madam Malkin’s feet.

“You’re right, Draco,” says Narcissa, with a contemptuous glance at Hermione, “now I know the kind of scum that shops here. . . . We’ll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting’s.”

“I think you’re mistaken on who’s truly the scum here.” I say softly, but not without any anger behind my voice.

“You’re not one to talk Jamie Pendragon, your family name has finally been dragged down to rock bottom ever since you aligned yourselves with the Weasleys. It was bad enough you stayed with that Auror, but this is a downright disgrace to your once proud name.” Narcissa hisses at me.

My anger swells, and I can recognize the surge of power within me. It wants out— it wants to teach her a lesson in manners.

“They’re worth plenty more than you.” I grind out from gritted teeth.

And with that, the pair of them stride out of the shop, Malfoy taking care to bang as hard as he can into Ron on the way out.

“Well, really!” says Madam Malkin, snatching up the fallen robes and moving the tip of her wand over them like a vacuum cleaner, so that it removes all the dust.

She is distracted all through the fitting of Ron’s, Harry’s, and my new robes, tries to sell Hermione wizard’s dress robes instead of witch’s, and when she finally bows us out of the shop it is with an air of being glad to see the back of us. Personally I’m glad to be out as well since there is still a light blue glow coming from the palms of my hands, and nothing I’ve been trying has gotten them to go away.

“Got ev’rything?” asks Hagrid brightly when we reappear at his side.

“Just about,” says Harry. “Did you see the Malfoys?”

“Yeah,” says Hagrid, unconcerned. “Bu’ they wouldn’ dare make trouble in the middle o’ Diagon Alley, Harry. Don’ worry abou’ them.”

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I exchange looks, but before we can disabuse Hagrid of this comfortable notion, Arthur, Molly, Luka, Ginny, and Ariana appear, all clutching heavy packages of books.

“Everyone all right?” says Molly. “Got your robes? Right then, we can pop in at the Apothecary and Eeylops on the way to Fred and George’s — stick close, now. . . .”

Neither Harry, Ron, or I bought any ingredients at the Apothecary, seeing that we are no longer studying Potions, but the three of us bought large boxes of owl nuts for Hedwig, Pigwidgeon, and Dionysus at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Then, with Molly checking her watch every minute or so, we head farther along the street in search of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop run by Fred and George.

I couldn’t help but start to feel excited, even though there is still an undercurrent of stressed anger running under my skin. Ariana seems to take notice though, for suddenly her free hand is at the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine, and sending any ill thoughts away.

“We really haven’t got too long,” Molly says. “So we’ll just have a quick look around and then back to the car. We must be close, that’s number ninety-two . . . ninety-four . . .”

“Whoa,” says Ron, stopping in his tracks. I couldn’t have put it any better myself if I actually had the ability to make coherent sentences right now.

Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop fronts around us, Fred and George’s windows hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passersby are looking back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people have actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window is dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolve, pop, flash, bounce, and shriek; my eyes begin to water just looking at it. The right-hand window is covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:

WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO?

YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT U-NO-POO —

THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION THAT’S GRIPPING THE NATION!

 

I couldn’t help but double over with laughter at the mere sight of the store. I hear a weak sort of moan beside me and look around to see Molly gazing, dumbfounded, at the poster. Her lips move silently, mouthing the name “U-No-Poo.”

“They’ll be murdered in their beds!” she whispers.

“No they won’t!” says Ron, who, like the rest of us kids (sans Hermione), is laughing. “This is brilliant!”

And Ron and Harry lead the way into the shop. It is packed with customers; I cannot get near the shelves. I stare around, looking up at the boxes piled to the ceiling: Here are the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins perfected during their last, unfinished year at Hogwarts; I notice that the Nosebleed Nougat is most popular, with only one battered box left on the shelf.

There are bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved, the most expensive beating the unwary user around the head and neck, and boxes of quills, which come in Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer varieties. A space clears in the crowd, and I push my way towards the counter, where a gaggle of delighted ten-year-olds are watching a tiny little wooden man slowly ascending the steps to a real set of gallows, both perched on a box that read: REUSABLE HANGMAN — SPELL IT OR HE’LL SWING!

“‘Patented Daydream Charms . . .’”

Hermione has managed to squeeze through to a large display near the counter and was reading the information on the back of a box bearing a highly colored picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl who are standing on the deck of a pirate ship.

“I don’t see the appeal.” I mutter, and Ariana snickers from where she popped up beside me.

“That’s because there isn’t a certain hot female pirate captain with her arms around the girl.” She breathes into my ear, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up, and a flush to adorn my cheeks.

“Bloody hell Ari, are you trying to get us kicked out of my brothers’ shop?” I whisper back part mortified, part amused.

“‘One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens.’ You know,” says Hermione, looking up at Harry, “that really is extraordinary magic!”

“For that, Hermione,” says a voice behind us, “you can have one for free.”

A beaming Fred stands before us, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashes magnificently with his flaming hair.

“How are you, Harry?” They shake hands. “And what’s happened to your eye, Hermione?”

“Your punching telescope,” she says ruefully.

“Gave us all quite a jump.” I grin, only to have her slap my arm. I pout at Ariana, but she only rolls her eyes at me with a ‘you deserved that’ look on her face.

“Oh blimey, I forgot about those,” says Fred. “Here —”

He pulls a tub out of his pocket and hands it to her; she unscrews it gingerly to reveal a thick yellow paste.

“Just dab it on, that bruise’ll be gone within the hour,” says Fred. “We had to find a decent bruise remover. We’re testing most of our products on ourselves.”

Hermione looks nervous. “It is safe, isn’t it?” she asks.

“’Course it is,” says Fred bracingly. Harry wandered off with Fred while the rest of us stayed around looking at the various items that were in the shop. Ariana stuck by my side commenting on all the jokes and how she believed that I had some part of coming up with them. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the actual number of items that they stock that I had helped design.

Fred eventually came back with Harry after Ariana and I had come back around to the daydream potions where Hermione and Ginny still sat. They seemed to be a little too stuck on them for my taste.

“Haven’t you girls found our special WonderWitch products yet?” asks Fred. “Follow me, ladies. . . .”

Near the window is an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of excited girls is giggling enthusiastically. Hermione, Ginny, Ariana, and I hang back, looking wary.

“There you go,” says Fred proudly. “Best range of love potions you’ll find anywhere.”

Ginny raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Do they work?” she asks.

“Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question —”

“— and the attractiveness of the girl,” says George, appearing suddenly at our side. “But we’re not selling them to our sisters,” he adds, becoming suddenly stern, “not when one has a girlfriend and the other’s already got about five boys on the go from what we’ve —”

“Whatever you’ve heard from Ron is a big fat lie,” says Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf. “What’s this?”

“Guaranteed ten-second pimple vanisher,” says Fred. “Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don’t change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?”

“Yes, I am,” says Ginny. “And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?”

She is pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.

“Pygmy Puffs,” says George. “Miniature puffskeins, we can’t breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?”

“I dumped him, he was a bad loser,” says Ginny, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. “They’re really cute!”

“They’re too pink.” I say disdainfully.

“Of course you’d say that Jamie.” Ginny snarks back, and I roll my eyes at her.

“They’re fairly cuddly, yes,” concedes Fred. “But you’re moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren’t you?”

Ginny turns to look at him, her hands on her hips. There is such a Molly-ish glare on her face that I’m surprised Fred doesn’t recoil. I hope that I never learn to master that particular face.

“It’s none of your business. And I’ll thank you,” she adds angrily to Ron, who has just appeared at George’s elbow, laden with merchandise, “not to tell tales about me to these two!”

“That’s three Galleons, nine Sickles, and a Knut,” says Fred, examining the many boxes in Ron’s arms. “Cough up.”

“I’m your brother!”

“And that’s our stuff you’re nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I’ll knock off the Knut.”

“But I haven’t got three Galleons, nine Sickles!”

“You’d better put it back then, and mind you put it on the right shelves.”

Ron drops several boxes, swears, and makes a rude hand gesture at Fred that is unfortunately spotted by Molly, who has chosen that moment to appear.

“If I see you do that again I’ll jinx your fingers together,” she says sharply. Another note to add in my exceedingly long list of things to never be caught doing by the woman.

“Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?” says Ginny at once.

“A what?” says Molly warily.

“Please if you must, make it a purple one.” I groan.

“Look, they’re so sweet. . . .” Ginny continues completely ignoring me.

Molly moves aside to look at the Pygmy Puffs, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I momentarily have an unimpeded view out of the window. Draco Malfoy is hurrying up the street alone. As he passes Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, he glances over his shoulder. Seconds later, he moves beyond the scope of the window and we lose sight of him.

“Wonder where his mummy is?” says Harry, frowning.

“Don’t particularly care.” I mumble.

“Given her the slip by the looks of it,” says Ron.

“Why, though?” says Hermione.

“Didn’t you hear, Malfoy wanted to try on his big boy pants today.” I snicker rolling my eyes.

Harry looks around. Molly and Ginny are bending over the Pygmy Puffs Ariana having drifted over to them. Arthur is delightedly examining a pack of Muggle marked playing cards with Luka. Fred and George are both helping customers. On the other side of the glass, Hagrid is standing with his back to us, looking up and down the street.

“Get under here, quick,” says Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag.

“Oh — I don’t know, Harry,” says Hermione, looking uncertainly toward Molly.

“Come on!” says Ron.

She hesitates for a second longer, then ducks under the Cloak with Harry and Ron. Nobody notices us vanish; they are all too interested in Fred and George’s products. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I squeeze our way out of the door as quickly as we can, but by the time we gain the street, Malfoy has disappeared just as successfully as we have.

“He was going in that direction,” murmurs Harry as quietly as possible, so that the humming Hagrid will not hear us. “C’mon.”

We scurry along, peering left and right, through shop windows and doors, until Hermione points ahead.

“That’s him, isn’t it?” she whispers. “Turning left?”

“Couldn’t miss that gelled head anywhere.” I huff.

“Big surprise,” whispers Ron.

For Malfoy has glanced around, then slides into Knockturn Alley and out of sight.

“Quick, or we’ll lose him,” says Harry, speeding up.

“Our feet’ll be seen!” says Hermione anxiously, as the Cloak flaps a little around our ankles; it is much more difficult hiding all three of us under the Cloak nowadays.

“We’re not exactly eleven anymore.” I comment.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Harry impatiently. “Just hurry!”

But Knockturn Alley, the side street devoted to the Dark Arts, looks completely deserted. We peer into windows as we pass, but none of the shops seem to have any customers at all. I suppose it is a bit of a giveaway in these dangerous and suspicious times to buy Dark artifacts — or at least, to be seen buying them.

Hermione gives our arms a hard pinch.

“Ouch!”

“Shh! Look! He’s in there!” she breathes in Harry’s (and my) ear.

They had drawn level with Borgin and Burkes, which sells a wide variety of sinister objects. There in the midst of the cases full of skulls and old bottles stands Draco Malfoy with his back to us. Judging by the movements of Malfoy’s hands, he is talking animatedly. The proprietor of the shop, Mr. Borgin, an oily-haired, stooping man, stands facing Malfoy. He is wearing a curious expression of mingled resentment and fear.

“If only we could hear what they’re saying!” says Hermione.

“We can!” says Ron excitedly. “Hang on — damn —”

He dropped a couple more of the boxes he is still clutching as he fumbles with the largest.

“Extendable Ears, look!”

“I’m not saving you when they come to kill you for nicking their goods.” I warn him.

“Fantastic!” says Hermione, as Ron unravels the long, flesh-colored strings and begins to feed them towards the bottom of the door. “Oh, I hope the door isn’t Imperturbable —”

“No!” says Ron gleefully. “Listen!”

We put our heads together and listen intently to the ends of the strings, through which Malfoy’s voice can be heard loud and clear, as though a radio has been turned on.

“. . . you know how to fix it?”

“Possibly,” says Borgin, in a tone that suggests he is unwilling to commit himself.  “I’ll need to see it, though. Why don’t you bring it into the shop?”

“I can’t,” says Malfoy. “It’s got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it.”

I see Borgin lick his lips nervously.

“Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn’t guarantee anything.”

“No?” says Malfoy, and I know, just by his tone, that Malfoy is sneering. “Perhaps this will make you more confident.”

He moves toward Borgin and is blocked from view by the cabinet. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I shuffle sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all we can see is Borgin, looking very frightened.

“Tell anyone,” says Malfoy, “and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He’s a family friend. He’ll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you’re giving the problem your full attention.”

“There will be no need for —”

“I’ll decide that,” says Malfoy. “Well, I’d better be off. And don’t forget to keep that one safe, I’ll need it.”

“Perhaps you’d like to take it now?”

“No, of course I wouldn’t, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it.”

“Of course not . . . sir.”

Borgin makes a very deep bow, and I have to contain my scoff of distain.

“Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?”

“Naturally, naturally,” murmurs Borgin, bowing again.

Next moment, the bell over the door tinkles loudly as Malfoy stalks out of the shop looking very pleased with himself. He passes so close to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I that we feel the Cloak flutter around our knees again. Inside the shop, Borgin remains frozen; his unctuous smile has vanished; he looks worried.

“What was that about?” whispers Ron, reeling in the Extendable Ears.

“Whatever it is I can guarantee you that it wasn’t good.” I say my stomach starting to tighten with dread.

“Dunno,” says Harry, thinking hard. “He wants something mended . . . and he wants to reserve something in there. . . . Could you see what he pointed at when he said ‘that one’?”

“No, he was behind that cabinet —”

“You three stay here,” whispers Hermione.

“What are you — ?”

But Hermione has already ducked out from under the Cloak. She checks her hair in the reflection in the glass, then marches into the shop, setting the bell tinkling again. Ron hastily feeds the Extendable Ears back under the door and passes one of the strings to Harry and me.

“Hello, horrible morning, isn’t it?” Hermione says brightly to Borgin, who does not answer, but casts her a suspicious look. Humming cheerily, Hermione strolls through the jumble of objects on display.

“Is this necklace for sale?” she asks, pausing beside a glass-fronted case.

“If you’ve got one and a half thousand Galleons,” says Mr. Borgin coldly.

“Oh — er — no, I haven’t got quite that much,” says Hermione, walking on.  “And . . . what about this lovely — um — skull?”

“Sixteen Galleons.”

“So it’s for sale, then? It isn’t being . . . kept for anyone?”

Mr. Borgin squints at her.

“Get out of there Mione.” I hiss, not liking this at all. I will kill her if she gets out of there alive.

“The thing is, that — er — boy who was in here just now, Draco Malfoy, well, he’s a friend of mine, and I want to get him a birthday present, but if he’s already reserved anything, I obviously don’t want to get him the same thing, so . . . um . . .”

It is a pretty lame story in my opinion, and apparently Borgin thinks so too.

“Out,” he says sharply. “Get out!”

Hermione does not wait to be asked twice, but hurries to the door with Borgin at her heels. As the bell tinkles again, Borgin slams the door behind her and puts up the CLOSED sign.

“Ah well,” says Ron, throwing the Cloak back over Hermione. “Worth a try, but you were a bit obvious —”

“Well, next time you can show me how it’s done, Master of Mystery!” she snaps.

“There won’t be a next time if I have anything to say about it. I’m likely to be killed by Molly and Ariana for wandering off as it is.” I moan, not looking forward to returning to the possibility of maybe being caught.

Ron and Hermione bicker all the way back to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, where we are forced to stop so that we can dodge undetected around a very anxious-looking Molly and Hagrid, who has clearly noticed our absence. Once in the shop, Harry whips off the Invisibility Cloak, hides it in his bag, and joins in with the rest of us when we insist, in answer to Molly’s accusations, that we have been in the back room all along, and that she must not have looked properly.

It only took one look at the murderous look on my girlfriend’s face to know that she didn’t buy a single word of the story. I am totally and completely screwed. It was nice knowing you world.


	5. The Slug Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 5- The Slug Club

 

The last week over summer break was not exactly the most relaxing of times. At least for me that is. Not only do I have to deal with a very miffed girlfriend (“Because you could have got yourself killed!”) and for the fact that Harry was obsessing over what Malfoy could have been doing in Knockturn Alley. It seemed to put the boy in a great deal of stress that no one seemed to be taking the whole event seriously.

Don’t get me wrong I hate the smarmy weasel as much as all of them, but I have better things to do in my life than worry about Malfoy’s every little move. People might start to get the wrong impression of our mutual hatred of one another.

“Yes, I’ve already agreed it was fishy, Harry,” says Hermione a little impatiently. She is sitting on the windowsill in Fred and George’s room with her feet up on one of the cardboard boxes and has only grudgingly looked up from her new copy of Advanced Rune Translation. “But haven’t we agreed there could be a lot of explanations?”

“Maybe he’s broken his Hand of Glory,” says Ron vaguely, as he attempts to straighten his broomstick’s bent tail twigs. “Remember that shriveled-up arm Malfoy had?”

“But what about when he said, ‘Don’t forget to keep that one safe’?” asks Harry for the umpteenth time. “That sounded to me like Borgin’s got another one of the broken objects, and Malfoy wants both.”

“You reckon?” says Ron, now trying to scrape some dirt off his broom handle.

“Harry will you please give it a rest already? There’s not much you can do about it from here. Can we at least save the major sleuthing until we’re back at school? I much rather be sidetracked from my school work than from my relaxation.” I say pleadingly.

Hermione looks up from her book with a scandalized look on her face. “I swear I don’t know how you got the scores you did on your O.W.L.s with a disregard for schooling like that.” She huffs.

I grin at my best friend satisfactory. “It’s a gift, what can I say?” I reply smugly. She gives me another fuming look before turning to her text muttering about the slackers that she surrounds herself with.

“This is important Jamie, it can’t wait. And yeah, I do,” says Harry interrupting to get us back on track. When we don’t answer, he says, “Malfoy’s father’s in Azkaban. Don’t you think Malfoy’d like revenge?”

Ron looks up, blinking.

“Malfoy, revenge? What can he do about it?”

“That’s my point, I don’t know!” says Harry, frustrated. “But he’s up to something and I think we should take it seriously. His father’s a Death Eater and —”

Harry breaks off, his eyes fixed on the window behind Hermione, his mouth open. I hate it when Harry gets looks like those.

“Harry?” says Hermione in an anxious voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Your scar’s not hurting again, is it?” asks Ron nervously.

“I thought we put a stop to that.” I sate.

“He’s a Death Eater,” says Harry slowly. “He’s replaced his father as a Death Eater!”

There is a silence; then Ron erupts in laughter. “Malfoy? He’s sixteen, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?”

That is an alarming possibility. Part of me wants to burst into hysterics along with my new brother, and the other part of me wants to actually give this theory of Harry’s some thought.

“It seems very unlikely, Harry,” says Hermione in a repressive sort of voice. “What makes you think — ?”

“In Madam Malkin’s. She didn’t touch him, but he yelled and jerked his arm away from her when she went to roll up his sleeve. It was his left arm. He’s been branded with the Dark Mark.”

Ron and Hermione look at each other. He is providing some interesting evidence, but its not enough to be conclusive.

“Well . . .” says Ron, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

“I think he just wanted to get out of there, Harry,” says Hermione.

“He showed Borgin something we couldn’t see,” Harry presses on stubbornly.  “Something that seriously scared Borgin. It was the Mark, I know it — he was showing Borgin who he was dealing with, you saw how seriously Borgin took him!”

Ron and Hermione exchange another look.

“I’m not sure, Harry. . . .”

“Yeah, I still don’t reckon You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join. . . .”

“We would really need some proof Harry. I’m all for hating Malfoy but being a Death Eater is a serious charge to level against him.” I say trying to be diplomatic about all this. Harry looks positively annoyed though that we won’t believe him and his theory. So Harry snatching a pile of his dirty Quidditch robes, and stalks out of the room.

He must still be slightly frightened of the thought of an irate Molly, for she’s been on all our cases to get our laundry done and not leave it for the last minute before school. I heave myself to my feet from my comfortable position on the floor rug. I let out a sigh and stretch my back, pleased at the pops that come.

“Well I better go check and see if Ari is going to speak to me today. It would be nice to know if I still have a relationship to look forward to going back to school.” I comment unhappily, leaving my friends behind, and starting for my room. I run into Ginny outside of the door. She’s holding a pile of her freshly laundered clothes in her arms, and there’s a disgruntled look on her face.

“Phlegm is at it again. If it’s not the color for the flowers, it’s the colors of the bridesmaids dresses. Of course she’s troubled by the color of my hair clashing with the perfect color that she wanted, so instead of pink it will have to be a pale gold. Gah— thank Merlin we are going back to school tomorrow, I honestly don’t think that I could stand another day here with her!” Ginny growls pushing into the room, then dumping the clothes onto her bed.

I can’t help but smile at her and her actions. She’s really one of my greatest sources of entertainment around here.

Ariana looks up from packing her trunk at the sudden commotion that has entered the room. When she sees that it’s me, a slightly guarded look falls over her face. I wince at the reaction. It’s been like this for days now, and even though it’s better than before its still not the greatest.

“I washed the last of your clothes with mine.” She says stiffly, gesturing to the pile of what looks like my school socks on the ground off to the side. I give her a small smile.

“Thanks… you didn’t have to do that you know. I may be incapable of getting anywhere close to Hermione’s brain capacity, but I did figure out along the way how to work the washer.” I say. A faint grin flicks across the girl’s face and I count that mentally as a win. Ginny is pretending to be busy folding her laundry, but I know that she’s listening to everything that’s going on like a hawk.

She’s been trying to get the two of us to make up ever since that trip to Diagon Alley. I stand there awkwardly looking at the girl who stole my heart, while she stares down at her hands while biting her lip. Has it ever been this awkward between us? I don’t think it ever has, even when we were little we at least teased each other.

“Ginny, do you think that you could give us a moment?” Ariana finally speaks. The redheaded girl drops the shirt she was holding, and practically prances out of the room, but not before squeezing my hand as she goes. The door is still open per Molly’s request that the two of us are never alone in the same room with the door closed. Honestly what does she think we’re going to be doing?

A wild blush breaks out across my cheeks and Ariana cocks her head to the side while staring at me. “And what exactly are you thinking about Jamie Pendragon?” She says, and I jump about a foot in the air.

“N-nothing! Honestly, just daydreaming really— plus I’m nervous about what exactly you want to talk about.” I ramble nervously. Another soft smile graces her face, and I feel myself start to relax slowly.

“Its nothing bad Jame, I promise you. Actually, I wanted to apologize.” Ariana says looking back down at her hands. Apologize? Okay that was the last thing I ever expected her to say.

I sink down onto the floor next to her. “Apologize? For what?” I ask.

“For blowing up on you the other day. You didn’t deserve that. Yes honestly the four of you shouldn’t sneak off in times like these, but I understand that its part of who you are. You’re never going to be the kind of person to just stand by passively and let mysteries go. Its just… its just that I’m scared Jamie.” Ariana finally spits out.

“Scared? Why are you scared?” I question, not liking that my girlfriend has been scared for so long and thought that she couldn’t come to me.

“You almost died last year! Merlin it was only a few months ago! There are people out there who would take you from me Jamie, and now that I have you, I don’t want to give you back. I know that makes me sound possessive, crazy, and slightly—”

She doesn’t get to finish her panicked ramble because my lips are on hers. I’m a fool for not thinking about this earlier. I’ve been so caught up in my own near death memories and freak-outs that I’ve totally forgotten that there were two other people there with me as well.

Ariana returns the kiss desperately, almost as if she’s seeking reassurance that I’m still alive and there with her. What seems like an eternity later we finally break away. My eyes flutter open, and I can see into those deep brown eyes that I have so come to love.

“I’m still here Ari. I didn’t die that night. I could have, but I didn’t. And let me tell you this, I don’t plan on partaking in anymore life threatening dangers anytime soon.” I say wholeheartedly meaning my promise. A bright smile forms on Ariana’s face, and she grabs me by the front of my shirt, pulling me in for another kiss.

I just hope that that is a statement that I can stick to. You never know, because when you’re as close friends as I am with Harry Potter, every year seems like a chance for more adventure and danger.

* * *

 

Our departure the following morning from the Burrow is probably the smoothest one there has been since well ever. The Ministry cars glide up to the front of the Burrow to find us waiting, trunks packed; Hermione’s cat, Crookshanks, safely enclosed in his traveling basket; and Hedwig; Ron’s owl, Pigwidgeon; Ginny’s new purple Pygmy Puff, Arnold, Luka’s cat Sophocles, and my owl Dionysus in cages.

“Au revoir, ’Arry,” says Fleur throatily, kissing him good-bye. Ron hurries forward, looking hopeful, but Ginny sticks out her foot and Ron falls, sprawling in the dust at Fleur’s feet. Furious, red-faced, and dirt-spattered, he hurries into the car without saying good-bye. I can’t help but sputter with laughter at that.

There is no cheerful Hagrid waiting for us at King’s Cross Station. Instead, two grim-faced, bearded Aurors in dark Muggle suits move forward the moment the cars stop and, flanking the party, marches us into the station without speaking.

“Quick, quick, through the barrier,” says Molly, who seems a little flustered by this austere efficiency. “Harry had better go first, with —”

She looks inquiringly at one of the Aurors, who nod briefly, seize Harry’s upper arm, and attempts to steer him towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

“I can walk, thanks,” says Harry irritably, jerking his arm out of the Auror’s grip. He runs at the wall, and disappears on the other side, his Auror friend quickly following. The rest of us line up and join Harry on the platform on the other side. I can’t help but smile at the train.

The Hogwarts Express has been my favorite mode of transportation for a while now. Harry motions for Hermione, Ron, and I to follow him down the platform so that we could get a compartment, but I can instantly tell by the looks on their faces that they’re not going to be joining us again.

“We can’t, Harry,” says Hermione, looking apologetic. “Ron and I’ve got to go to the prefects’ carriage first and then patrol the corridors for a bit.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” says Harry.

“You still got me Harry. I’m not the worst person to be stuck alone with for a few hours.” I say trying not to be a little insulted by his dour expression.

“You’d better get straight on the train, all of you, you’ve only got a few minutes to go,” says Molly, consulting her watch. “Well, have a lovely term, Ron. . . .”

As Molly goes around hugging all of us and getting teary eyed, Harry sneaks off to have a conversation with Arthur. I wonder what about, but I’m not nosey enough to try and eavesdrop on them. I feel a tug on my sleeve and turn to see Ariana standing there.

“I’m going to sit with my friends on the trip there. That alright with you?” She asks slightly unsure. I give her a quizzical look.

“Why wouldn’t it be? They’re your friends, you haven’t seen them in a while.” I say still confused. Ariana smiles at me, and pecks my cheek.

“You really are adorably naïve sometimes Jamie.” And with that she flits off to the train to go and find her friends. Luka disappears after her grumbling something about finally getting space.

There is a train whistle and the door start closing. “You two better hurry onto the train!” Arthur says appearing behind me with Harry. He leads both of us by the shoulder to the door, and watches as we hop on.

“Now, Harry dear, you’re coming to us for Christmas, it’s all fixed with Dumbledore, so we’ll see you quite soon,” said Molly through the window, as Harry slammed the door shut behind us and the train begins to move. “You make sure you look after yourself and —”

The train is gathering speed.

“— be good and —”

She is jogging to keep up now.

“— stay safe!”

Harry and I wave until the train has turned a corner and Arthur and Molly are lost to view, then we turn to see where the others have got to. I suppose Ron and Hermione are cloistered in the prefects’ carriage, but Ginny is a little way along the corridor, chatting to some friends. Harry makes his way towards her, dragging his trunk I follow along behind him with mine.

Personally I just want to find a compartment and be done with this part of our travel. People stare shamelessly as Harry approaches. They even press their faces against the windows of their compartments to get a look at him. I guess his ‘Chosen One’ rumors are going to bring Harry a lot more limelight than he would appreciate.  Harry taps Ginny on the shoulder.

“Fancy trying to find a compartment?”

“I can’t, Harry, I said I’d meet Dean,” says Ginny brightly. “See you later.”

“Make good choices!” I call after my sister. She spins around with a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Only if you do sister dear!” She replies.

“Right,” says Harry. There is a look on his face that if tried to place it, I would call it disgruntled. Is Harry upset that Ginny won’t sit with us? Well this is certainly news to me. I always thought that Harry only tolerated her presence as Ron’s little sister. Very interesting.

“Hi, Harry! Hey Jamie!” says a familiar voice from behind us.

“Neville!” says Harry in relief, as we turn to see a round-faced boy struggling towards us.

“Hey Neville.” I say happily.

“Hello, Harry, Jamie,” says a girl with long hair and large misty eyes, who is just behind Neville.

“Luna, hi, how are you?” I say.

“Very well, thank you,” says Luna. She is clutching a magazine to her chest; large letters on the front announces that there is a pair of free Spectrespecs inside.

“Quibbler still going strong, then?” asks Harry. I can see that he doesn’t dislike the magazine anymore since they did the exclusive interview with him last year.

“Oh yes, circulation’s well up,” says Luna happily.

“Let’s find seats,” says Harry, and the four of us set off along the train through hordes of silently staring students. At last we find an empty compartment, and Harry hurries inside gratefully.

“They’re even staring at us!” says Neville, indicating himself and Luna. “Because we’re with you!”

“They’re staring at you because you were at the Ministry too,” says Harry, as he hoists his trunk into the luggage rack, then helps me hoist mine. “Our little adventure there was all over the Daily Prophet, you must’ve seen it.”

“Yes, I thought Gran would be angry about all the publicity,” says Neville, “but she was really pleased. Says I’m starting to live up to my dad at long last. She bought me a new wand, look!”

He pulls it out and shows it to Harry and me.

“Cherry and unicorn hair,” he says proudly. “We think it was one of the last Ollivander ever sold, he vanished next day — oi, come back here, Trevor!”

And he dives under the seat to retrieve his toad as it makes one of its frequent bids for freedom.

“Are we still doing D.A. meetings this year, Harry?” asks Luna, who is detaching a pair of psychedelic spectacles from the middle of The Quibbler.

“Yeah that is a good question Harry.” I say turning to my friend.

“No point now we’ve got rid of Umbridge, is there?” says Harry, sitting down. Neville bumps his head against the seat as he emerges from under it. He looks most disappointed.

“I liked the D.A.! I learned loads with you!”

“I enjoyed the meetings too,” says Luna serenely. “It was like having friends.”

I wince at the statement. Luna says things like this that makes me very uncomfortable.

“You do have friends Luna. You have us.” I point out. The girl merely stares at me with those misty eyes for a few moments before nodding her head.

“Quite.” She says, before turning to her magazine.

There is a disturbance outside our compartment door; a group of fourth-year girls are whispering and giggling together on the other side of the glass.

“You ask him!”

“No, you!”

“I’ll do it!”

And one of them, a bold-looking girl with large dark eyes, a prominent chin, and long black hair pushes her way through the door.

“Hi, Harry, I’m Romilda, Romilda Vane,” she says loudly and confidently. “Why don’t you join us in our compartment? You don’t have to sit with them,” she adds in a stage whisper, indicating Neville’s bottom, which is sticking out from under the seat again as he gropes around for Trevor, and Luna, who is now wearing her free Spectrespecs, which give her the look of a demented, multicolored owl.

“Pendragon can come along as well.” She says cooly.

“They’re friends of mine,” says Harry coldly.

“Right sight better than you.” I grumble.

“Oh,” says the girl, looking very surprised. “Oh. Okay.”

And she withdraws, sliding the door closed behind her.

“People expect you to have cooler friends than us,” says Luna, once again displaying her knack for embarrassing honesty.

“You are cool,” says Harry shortly. “None of them was at the Ministry. They didn’t fight with me.”

“That’s a very nice thing to say,” beams Luna. Then she pushes her Spectrespecs farther up her nose and settles down to read The Quibbler.

“We didn’t face him, though,” says Neville, emerging from under the seat with fluff and dust in his hair and a resigned-looking Trevor in his hand. “You did. You should hear my gran talk about you. ‘That Harry Potter’s got more backbone than the whole Ministry of Magic put together!’ She’d give anything to have you as a grandson. . . .”

I feel pity for Neville. There’s honestly nothing wrong with him. He is just as good as Harry in my book. One doesn’t have to go looking for danger and adventure to be someone of strong character in my book. Too bad the world doesn’t take a few pages out of my book every once in a while. Harry is staring at Neville with this strange look on his face.

Honestly he goes off in thought so many times, that I’m used to those vacant looks on his face by now.

“You all right, Harry? You look funny,” says Neville.

Harry starts. “Sorry — I —”

“Wrackspurt got you?” asks Luna sympathetically, peering at Harry through her enormous colored spectacles.

“I — what?”

“A Wrackspurt . . . They’re invisible. They float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy,” she says. “I thought I felt one zooming around in here.”

She flaps her hands at thin air, as though beating off large invisible moths. Harry, Neville, and I catch each other’s eyes and hastily begin to talk of Quidditch.

The weather beyond the train windows is as patchy as it has been all summer; we pass through stretches of the chilling mist, then out into weak, clear sunlight. It is during one of the clear spells, when the sun is visible almost directly overhead, that Ron and Hermione enter the compartment at last.

“Wish the lunch trolley would hurry up, I’m starving,” says Ron longingly, slumping into the seat beside Harry and rubbing his stomach. “Hi, Neville. Hi, Luna. Guess what?” he adds, turning to Harry. “Malfoy’s not doing prefect duty. He’s just sitting in his compartment with the other Slytherins, we saw him when we passed.”

“What did he do when he saw you?” Harry demands quickly.

“The usual,” says Ron indifferently, demonstrating a rude hand gesture. “Not like him, though, is it? Well — that is” — he does the hand gesture again — “but why isn’t he out there bullying first years?”

“Dunno,” says Harry.

“Maybe he preferred the Inquisitorial Squad,” says Hermione. “Maybe being a prefect seems a bit tame after that.”

“Oh yes because having free reign to bully and torture students last year is a position we all just can’t get over.” I say sarcastically. Last year still pisses me off to no end to think about.

“I don’t think so,” says Harry. “I think he’s —”

But before he can expound on his theory, the compartment door slides open again and a breathless third-year girl steps inside.

“I’m supposed to deliver these to Neville Longbottom, Jamie Pendragon, and Harry P-Potter,” she falters, as her eyes meet Harry’s and she turns scarlet. She is holding out three scrolls of parchment tied with violet ribbon. Perplexed, Harry, Neville, and I take the scrolls addressed to each of us and the girl stumbles back out of the compartment.

“What is it?” Ron demands, as Harry and I unroll ours. I groan at the contents of mine.

“An invitation,” says Harry.

“Do I have to?” I whine.

 

Jamie,

I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C.

Sincerely,

Professor H.E.F. Slughorn

 

“Who’s Professor Slughorn?” asks Neville, looking perplexedly at his own invitation.

“New teacher,” says Harry. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to go, won’t we?”

“Really…” I say, and Harry gives me a strong knowing look.

“Fine. That’s doesn’t mean that I have to like it.” I grumble.

“But what does he want me for?” asks Neville nervously, as though he is expecting detention.

“No idea,” says Harry, which is not entirely true, though he had no proof yet that his hunch was correct. “Listen,” he adds, “let’s go under the Invisibility Cloak, then we might get a good look at Malfoy on the way, see what he’s up to.”

“Harry.” I say not liking this idea all that much.

This idea, however, comes to nothing: The corridors, which are packed with people on the lookout for the lunch trolley, are impossible to negotiate while wearing the Cloak. Harry stows it regretfully back in his bag. Every now and then, students will hurtle out of their compartments to get a better look at Harry. The exception is Cho Chang, who darts into her compartment when she sees Harry coming. As Harry and I pass the window, we see her deep in determined conversation with her friend Marietta, who is wearing a very thick layer of makeup that does not entirely obscure the odd formation of pimples still etched across her face. Serves her right. Smirking slightly, we push on.

When we reach compartment C, we see at once that we are not Slughorn’s only invitees, although judging by the enthusiasm of Slughorn’s welcome, Harry is the most warmly anticipated.

“Harry, m’boy!” says Slughorn, jumping up at the sight of him so that his great velvet-covered belly seems to fill all the remaining space in the compartment. His shiny bald head and great silvery mustache gleam as brightly in the sunlight as the golden buttons on his waistcoat. “Good to see you, good to see you, ah Miss Pendragon, a pleasure as always. And you must be Mr. Longbottom!”

Neville nods, looking scared. At a gesture from Slughorn, we sit down opposite each other in the only three empty seats, which are nearest the door. I glance around at our fellow guests. I recognize a Slytherin from our year, a tall black boy with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes; there are also two seventh-year boys I do not know, Ariana and Luka are squiched together looking entirely uncomfortable, and, squashed in the corner beside Slughorn and looking as though she is not entirely sure how she got there, Ginny.

“Now, do you know everyone?” Slughorn asks Harry, Neville, and me. “Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course —”

Zabini does not make any sign of recognition or greeting, nor do we: Gryffindor and Slytherin students loathe each other on principle.

“This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you’ve come across each other — ? No?”

McLaggen, a large, wiry-haired youth, raised a hand, and Harry, Neville, and I nodd back at him.

“— and this is Marcus Belby, I don’t know whether — ?”

Belby, who is thin and nervous-looking, gives a strained smile.

“— and this charming young lady tells me she knows you!” Slughorn finishes.

Ginny grimaces at Harry, Neville, and me from behind Slughorn’s back. I feel sorry for her.

“And I suspect you all know Ariana Dumbledore and Luka Pendragon.” I roll my eyes at that. Luka scowls, and Ariana coughs to cover up her laugh. Just wait until the Slug gets ahold of the fact that Ariana and I are together, he’ll have a golden cow then.

“Well now, this is most pleasant,” says Slughorn cozily. “A chance to get to know you all a little better. Here, take a napkin. I’ve packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on licorice wands, and a poor old man’s digestive system isn’t quite up to such things. . . . Pheasant, Belby?”

Belby starts and accepts what looked like half a cold pheasant.

“I was just telling young Marcus here that I had the pleasure of teaching his Uncle Damocles,” Slughorn tells us, now passing around a basket of rolls. “Outstanding wizard, outstanding, and his Order of Merlin most well-deserved. Do you see much of your uncle, Marcus?”

Unfortunately, Belby has just taken a large mouthful of pheasant; in his haste to answer Slughorn he swallows too fast, turns purple, and begins to choke.

“Anapneo,” says Slughorn calmly, pointing his wand at Belby, whose airway seems to clear at once.

“Not . . . not much of him, no,” gasps Belby, his eyes streaming.

“Well, of course, I daresay he’s busy,” says Slughorn, looking questioningly at Belby. “I doubt he invented the Wolfsbane Potion without considerable hard work!”

“I suppose . . .” says Belby, who seems afraid to take another bite of pheasant until he was sure that Slughorn has finished with him. “Er . . . he and my dad don’t get on very well, you see, so I don’t really know much about . . .”

His voice trails away as Slughorn gives him a cold smile and turns to McLaggen instead.

“Now, you, Cormac,” says Slughorn, “I happen to know you see a lot of your Uncle Tiberius, because he has a rather splendid picture of the two of you hunting nogtails in, I think, Norfolk?”

“Oh, yeah, that was fun, that was,” says McLaggen. “We went with Bertie Higgs and Rufus Scrimgeour — this was before he became Minister, obviously —”

“Ah, you know Bertie and Rufus too?” beams Slughorn, now offering around a small tray of pies; somehow, Belby was missed out. “Now tell me . . .”

This sickens me. Everyone here seems to have been invited because they are connected to somebody well-known or influential — everyone except Ginny. Zabini, who is interrogated after McLaggen, turns out to have a famously beautiful witch for a mother (from what I can make out, she has been married seven times, each of her husbands dying mysteriously and leaving her mounds of gold). It is Neville’s turn next: This is a very uncomfortable ten minutes, for Neville’s parents, well-known Aurors, had been tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange and a couple of Death Eater cronies. At the end of Neville’s interview, I have the impression that Slughorn is reserving judgment on Neville, yet to see whether he has any of his parents’ flair.

When he turned on Luka and I it was a very simple and quick interrogation. Yes we are in fact Pendragons, one of the last three of our names. Yes our parents died at the hand of our Uncle. Yes said Uncle tried to kill me last year. If our cold countenance was anything to go by you’d think he would have gotten the picture that we didn’t want to talk about it. There’s very little choice in the matter when it come to Slughorn though.

“And now,” says Slughorn, shifting massively in his seat with the air of a compere introducing his star act. “Harry Potter! Where to begin? I feel I barely scratched the surface when we met over the summer!” He contemplates Harry for a moment as though he is a particularly large and succulent piece of pheasant, then says, “‘The Chosen One,’ they’re calling you now!”

Harry says nothing. Belby, McLaggen, and Zabini are all staring at him.

“Of course,” says Slughorn, watching Harry closely, “there have been rumors for years. . . . I remember when — well — after that terrible night — Lily — James — and you survived — and the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary —”

Zabini gives a tiny little cough that is clearly supposed to indicate amused skepticism. I glare at him around Harry. An angry voice bursts out from behind Slughorn.

“Yeah, Zabini, because you’re so talented . . . at posing. . . .”

“Oh dear!” chuckles Slughorn comfortably, looking around at Ginny, who is glaring at Zabini around Slughorn’s great belly. “You want to be careful, Blaise! I saw this young lady perform the most marvelous Bat-Bogey Hex as I was passing her carriage! I wouldn’t cross her!”

Zabini merely looks contemptuous.

“Anyway,” says Slughorn, turning back to Harry. “Such rumors this summer. Of course, one doesn’t know what to believe, the Prophet has been known to print inaccuracies, make mistakes — but there seems little doubt, given the number of witnesses, that there was quite a disturbance at the Ministry and that you were there in the thick of it all!”

Harry nods hesitantly. I feel for him I really do, but I’m too busy trying to stop my powers from emerging after what Sluggy poked around at with my family. I can see Ariana looking worriedly at me. Slughorn beams at Harry.

“So modest, so modest, no wonder Dumbledore is so fond — you were there, then? But the rest of the stories — so sensational, of course, one doesn’t know quite what to believe — this fabled prophecy, for instance —”

“We never heard a prophecy,” says Neville, turning geranium pink as he says it.

“That’s right,” says Ginny staunchly. “Neville, Ariana, Luka, Jamie, and I were there too, and all this ‘Chosen One’ rubbish is just the Prophet making things up as usual.”

“You should really look into a new news outlet.” I mutter.

“You were all there too, were you?” says Slughorn with great interest, looking at the rest of us, but we sit clamlike before his encouraging smile.

“Yes . . . well . . . it is true that the Prophet often exaggerates, of course. . . .” Slughorn says, sounding a little disappointed. “I remember dear Gwenog telling me (Gwenog Jones, I mean, of course, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies) —”

He meanders off into a long-winded reminiscence, but I have the distinct impression that Slughorn has not finished with Harry, and that he was not convinced by Neville and Ginny.

The afternoon wears on with more anecdotes about illustrious wizards Slughorn had taught, all of whom have been delighted to join what he calls the “Slug Club” at Hogwarts. I cannot wait to leave, but can’t see how to do so politely. Finally the train emerges from yet another long misty stretch into a red sunset, and Slughorn looks around, blinking in the twilight.

“Good gracious, it’s getting dark already! I didn’t notice that they’d lit the lamps! You’d better go and change into your robes, all of you. McLaggen, you must drop by and borrow that book on nogtails. Harry, Blaise, Luka, Jamie — any time you’re passing. Same goes for you, miss,” he twinkles at Ginny. “Well, off you go, off you go!”

As he pushed past Harry and me into the darkening corridor, Zabini shoots Harry a filthy look that Harry returns with interest. He, Ginny, Neville, and I follow Zabini back along the train after saying bye to Ariana and Luka, who look like they’re gearing up for another fight.

“I’m glad that’s over,” mutters Neville. “Strange man, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is a bit,” says Harry, his eyes on Zabini. “How come you ended up in there, Ginny?”

“He saw me hex Zacharias Smith,” says Ginny. “You remember that idiot from Hufflepuff who was in the D.A.? He kept on and on asking about what happened at the Ministry and in the end he annoyed me so much I hexed him — when Slughorn came in I thought I was going to get detention, but he just thought it was a really good hex and invited me to lunch! Mad, eh?”

“I wish I was there to see it. Then again, I may have accidentally set him on fire.” I say solemnly mulling over that thought. Ginny doesn’t look at all taken aback by that thought though.

“Better reason for inviting someone than because their mother’s famous,” says Harry, scowling at the back of Zabini’s head, “or because their uncle —”

It looks like a brilliant idea crossing Harry’s mind at that moment.

“I’ll see you three later,” says Harry under his breath, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak and flinging it over himself.

“But what’re you — ?” asks Neville.

“Later!” whispers Harry. The three of us stare down the corridor where we’re sure Harry’s gone.

“What’s he gone to do?” Ginny asks moving closer to me.

“Something stupid. Undoubtedly stupid.” I say shaking my head. Harry should know better than to go spying on a compartment full of Slytherins. I just hope it does come back to bite him in the arse this time.


	6. Snape Victorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 6- Snape Victorious

 

I just knew that he was going to get himself into trouble. That boy can’t stay in good graces for more than a few minutes before he has to go and try and cause some new sort of commotion. Okay so maybe more than a little bit of my currently bitter feelings are the result of Harry leaving me out of all the adventure once again, but can you blame me?

When the train had slowed down to a stop we all lugged our luggage out of the compartment, and to the platform so that it could be taken up to the school. Ron had the rather unfortunate task of dragging Harry’s as well since he wasn’t there to help out with the manual labor. By the time Ginny, Neville, Luna, and I met up with Ron and Hermione again, most of the carriages had made it up to the castle.

I was rather hoping to catch another look at my girlfriend, but I wasn’t able to see her in the thinning crowd of students, and Hermione had practically yanked me up into the next carriage with them by the back of my cloak. I am anxious to see Ariana for two reasons, one because we haven’t been apart from each other for this long in a while, and two, well I’m afraid of how the school is going to react to the fact that we’re together.

I was lucky that my family took it well, me not well being attracted to boys and all. I’ve still been pestered with that question of whether or not this makes me a lesbian. I choose never to really entertain them when they ask though. I still honestly have no idea if I’m attracted to girls over boys, but I do know one thing for sure. I’m irrevocably attracted to Ariana Dumbledore, and there are those out there who would target me for doing so.

One in particular being the back of the platinum blond head of the boy I’m staring at. Malfoy is slowly making his way from the carriage drop off point to the front entrance of the castle. By his side predictably are Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy who has practically started growing on him it seems.

I can hear Malfoy boasting about all the cool things that his father took him to do in the summer. Suspiciously he doesn’t seem to mention anything about the day that we saw him in Borgin and Burkes. We all stream into the Great Hall and make our way over to the Gryffindor table. I scan my eyes across the Hufflepuff table, and smile widely when I see Ariana sitting down next to Susan Bones. She grins at me and sends a wink my way.

“You two are sickening you know that.” Ron grumbles at me before looking at his gleaming empty plate in front of him.

“You’re just jealous ‘cause you haven’t even snogged a girl before.” I say with a shrug. Ginny snorts beside me, and even Hermione has a small smile on her face, though she’s fighting to look disapproving.

“Shut it.” He growls trying to cover up the red that’s sneaking up his neck. We chat idly for another few minutes looking around now for Harry. It looks like the whole school is here now except for him and the first years. I have a bad feeling that something happened to him. I knew that I shouldn’t have let that boy go out alone. By the time that the Sorting Ceremony starts and Harry is still not here, there is cause for massive worry. Hermione is thinking along the same lines as me for we’re both scanning the room and the entrance to see if Harry is going to pop up suddenly somewhere.

The feast starts without any hesitance and Ron dives into the food since he was starving since the last two hours of the train ride here. Ginny is even starting to look around for Harry as well. Hermione on the other hand finally has something better to vent her frustrations out on. “Oh will you stop thinking about you’re stomach for a moment? Our best friend is missing!” Hermione practically screeches after Ron finishes his first helping of food and has moved onto his second.

“I’m sure that Harry’s find Mione.” I say nervously spinning my goblet in my hands.

“Like you actually believe that jitterbug.” Ginny says rolling her eyes at me. I glare at her, but I’m interrupted from delivering a comeback, by the loud gasp that Hermione emits. I spin around in time to see what Hermione and most of the school is looking at. Slinking into the Great Hall is none other than Harry Potter dressed in his muggle clothes with what looks like dried blood.

My hands clench into fists below the table. So he was in trouble, and I was stupid enough to let him go off alone and get into it. Damn. I’m going to have to start working on my trust issues again; I’m a little too trusting now.

“Where’ve you — blimey, what’ve you done to your face?” says Ron, goggling at Harry along with everyone else in the vicinity.

“Why, what’s wrong with it?” says Harry, grabbing a spoon and squinting at his distorted reflection.

“You’re covered in blood!” says Hermione. “Come here —”

She raised her wand, says “Tergeo!” and siphons off the dried blood.

“Thanks,” says Harry, feeling his now clean face. “How’s my nose looking?”

“Like something you use to breathe with.” I drawl trying to draw some levity into the situation, and calm myself down.

“Normal,” says Hermione anxiously. “Why shouldn’t it? Harry, what happened? We’ve been terrified!”

“I’ll tell you later,” says Harry curtly. I know he is very conscious that Ginny, Neville, Dean, and Seamus are listening in; even Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, has come floating along the bench to eavesdrop.

“But —” says Hermione.

“Not now Hermione.” Harry says in a dark voice that cuts her off. I glare at the Boy Wonder not liking that his attitude is already so bad at the very beginning of the year.

“You missed the Sorting, anyway,” says Hermione, as Ron dives for a large chocolate gateau. I slowly reach my hand out for some of the sweets, still far too focused on my friend.

“Hat say anything interesting?” asks Harry, taking a piece of treacle tart.

“More of the same, really . . . advising us all to unite in the face of our enemies, you know.”

“Its become very good at warning us about the evil that’s out there. Like we could ever forget.” I mumble placing my hand on my stomach where I used to be cut open and bleeding.

“Dumbledore mentioned Voldemort at all?” Harry questions.

“Not yet, but he always saves his proper speech for after the feast, doesn’t he? It can’t be long now.” says Hermione.

“Snape said Hagrid was late for the feast —”

“You’ve seen Snape? How come?” says Ron between frenzied mouthfuls of gateau.

“Bumped into him,” says Harry evasively.

“Hagrid was only a few minutes late,” says Hermione. “Look, he’s waving at you, Harry.”

We all glance at the staff table to see a happy Hagrid laving at us, which we all return happily.

“So what did Professor Slughorn want?” Hermione asks her curiosity finally getting the better of her.

“To know what really happened at the Ministry,” says Harry.

“Him and everyone else here,” sniffs Hermione. “People were interrogating us about it on the train, weren’t they, Ron?”

“Yeah,” says Ron. “All wanting to know if you really are ‘the Chosen One’ —”

“They can all bugger off.” I say spinning my spoon lazily in my fingers. I try and seek out Ariana again, she always manages to calm me down even if I only get to look at her.

“There has been much talk on that very subject even amongst the ghosts,” interrupts Nearly Headless Nick, inclining his barely connected head towards Harry so that it wobbles dangerously on its ruff. “I am considered something of a Potter authority; it is widely known that we are friendly. I have assured the spirit community that I will not pester you for information, however. ‘Harry Potter knows that he can confide in me with complete confidence,’ I told them. ‘I would rather die than betray his trust.’”

“That’s not saying much, seeing as you’re already dead,” Ron observes.

“Once again, you show all the sensitivity of a blunt axe,” says Nearly Headless Nick in affronted tones, and he rises into the air and glides back towards the far end of the Gryffindor table just as Dumbledore gets to his feet at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall dies away almost instantly.

“The very best of evenings to you!” he says, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.

“What happened to his hand?” gasps Hermione. I wince just seeing it again.

She is not the only one who has noticed. Dumbledore’s right hand is as blackened and dead-looking as it had been on the night he had come to the Burrow to have Luka and I fetch Harry with him. Whispers sweep the room; Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiles and shakes his purple-and-gold sleeve over his injury.

“Nothing to worry about,” he says airily. “Now . . . to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you . . .”

“His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer,” Harry whispers to Hermione. “I thought he’d have cured it by now, though . . . or Madam Pomfrey would’ve done.”

“It looks as if it’s died,” says Hermione, with a nauseated expression. “But there are some injuries you can’t cure . . . old curses . . . and there are poisons without antidotes. . . .”

“Just what I always wanted to know Mione.” I hiss at her, and she has the decency to look sheepish.

“. . . and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.

“Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise.”

“We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor Slughorn” — Slughorn stands up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waistcoated belly casting the table below into shadow — “is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master.”

“Potions?”

“Potions?”

The word echoes all over the Hall as people wonder whether we heard right.

“Oh this isn’t going to be good.” I groan already having a sinking suspicion about what’s coming.

“Potions?” say Ron and Hermione together, turning to stare at Harry. “But you said —”

“Professor Snape, meanwhile,” says Dumbledore, raising his voice so that it carries over all the muttering, “will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“No!” says Harry, so loudly that many heads turn in his direction. This is terrible. How could Snape be given the Defense Against the Dark Arts job after all this time? Hadn’t it been widely known for years that Dumbledore did not trust or at least want him to do it?

“But Harry, you said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!” says Hermione.

“We assumed that he would since it was the only open position.” I say feeling like I’m going to be sick.

Snape, who is sitting on Dumbledore’s right, does not stand up at the mention of his name; he merely raises a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the applause from the Slytherin table, yet I am sure I can detect a look of triumph on the features I loathe so much.

“Well, there’s one good thing,” Harry says savagely. “Snape’ll be gone by the end of the year.”

“What do you mean?” asks Ron.

“That job’s jinxed. No one’s lasted more than a year. . . . Quirrell actually died doing it. . . . Personally, I’m going to keep my fingers crossed for another death. . . .”

“Harry!” says Hermione, shocked and reproachful.

“Even I wouldn’t wish that.” I say paling a little more.

“He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year,” says Ron reasonably. “That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term. Moody didn’t.”

Dumbledore clears his throat. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I are not the only ones who were talking; the whole Hall had erupted in a buzz of conversation at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart’s desire. Seemingly oblivious to the sensational nature of the news he had just imparted, Dumbledore says nothing more about staff appointments, but waits a few seconds to ensure that the silence is absolute before continuing.

“Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength.”

The silence seems to tighten and strangle the occupants in the hall now.

“I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle’s magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of bed after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others’ safety.”

Dumbledore’s blue eyes sweep over the students before he smiles once more.

“But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!”

Well that was officially the worst back to school speech I’ve ever heard. “Well if that won’t give me nightmares…” I say shaking my head.

There is the usual deafening noise of everyone getting out of their seats and making their way back to their common rooms. Hermione runs ahead to make her way to the first years so that she can help lead them to the common room. I hang back with Harry and Ron waiting for most of the Gryffindors to file out before us.

“So what happened to your nose?” Ron asks after most of the house is gone. Harry looks reluctant, but he tells us anyway.

After Harry talks about getting caught eavesdropping on Malfoy and having him petrify him and stomp on his nose. Neither Ron nor I laugh even though I can see that Ron really wants to.

“You kind of set yourself up for that one.” I tell Harry shaking my head at him. Not even I’m stupid enough to set myself up to eavesdrop on Malfoy like that. He may not be the brightest person in the world, but even he can tell when something is up.

Harry gives me an unhappy look, and I choose to ignore it. I turn Harry and Ron out as the former tries to convince the latter that it is important what Malfoy was boasting about and all with his father.

Ron doesn’t seem to buy it, and I’m not willing to listen to anything like that until I’m sure of what is the truth around here. There will be no more jumping to conclusions for me, I almost died because of the last time we did.

“Come on, Harry, he was just showing off for Parkinson. . . . What kind of mission would You-Know-Who have given him?” Ron says, and I tune back into the conversation.

“How d’you know Voldemort doesn’t need someone at Hogwarts? It wouldn’t be the first —”

“I wish yeh’d stop sayin’ tha’ name, Harry,” says a reproachful voice behind us. I look over my shoulder to see Hagrid shaking his head. I beam up at him with a happy smile.

“Dumbledore uses that name,” says Harry stubbornly.

“Yeah, well, tha’s Dumbledore, innit?” says Hagrid mysteriously. “So how come yeh were late, Harry? I was worried.”

“Got held up on the train,” says Harry. “Why were you late?”

“I was with Grawp,” says Hagrid happily. “Los’ track o’ the time. He’s got a new home up in the mountains now, Dumbledore fixed it — nice big cave. He’s much happier than he was in the forest. We were havin’ a good chat.”

“Really?” says Harry. I’m surprised as well, considering that Grawp had a minimal vocabulary.

“Oh yeah, he’s really come on,” says Hagrid proudly. “Yeh’ll be amazed. I’m thinkin’ o’ trainin’ him up as me assistant.”

Ron snorts loudly, but manages to pass it off as a violent sneeze. We are now standing beside the oak front doors.

“Anyway, I’ll see yeh tomorrow, firs’ lesson’s straight after lunch. Come early an’ yeh can say hello ter Buck — I mean, Witherwings!”

Raising an arm in cheery farewell, he heads out of the front doors into the darkness. I catch Harry and Ron looking at each other with worried look on their faces.

“You’re not taking Care of Magical Creatures are you?” I say slowly watching as the two boys shake their heads remorsefully.

“Hermione?” Harry tries.

“Nuh uh, she was talking about her classes on the train.” Ron says paling a fair bit. I sigh and kick my shoe at the stone floor.

“Well it looks like it’ll be just me keeping Hagrid company in class.” I say trying to feel cheerier about it than I am. He’s going to be crushed that the others aren’t continuing. I’m only doing so for I like Hagrid and it gets me out of the castle more than usual.

Slowly we make our way to the staircase that leads up to the towers. Before I can step foot onto it though, I’m twirled around. I’m shocked for a moment, but relax instantly when I see the blond hair of my favorite Hufflepuff. “I thought you’d never show up.” Ariana says a tad bit breathlessly before pressing her lips to mine.

I lose myself in the kiss for a few seconds before—

“Oi! Quit snogging my sister will you! I thought that getting to school would fix all these problems!” Ron yelps. We break apart, and I’m rather happy that I’m not on the receiving end of the nasty look that Ariana is currently giving Ron.

“Come on mate, lets just head up. Let Jamie have her privacy here.” Harry says dragging Ron by the collar of his robe. Ron sputters protests as Harry manages to make him move up a few steps.

“All right! You got five minutes, and if you’re not in the common room by then, then I’m coming right back out here to break you—” Ron doesn’t get to finish his sentence as the pair of them disappear around the corner.

“Sorry about that.” I say knowing that my cheeks are probably red now. Ariana just chuckles a little before biting her lip.

“He’s your brother Jamie, it sort of comes with the territory.” She tells me. I smile softly at that before frowning. If only all my brothers could be like Ron. Don’t tell him that I ever thought that.


	7. The Half-Blood Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 7-The Half-Blood Prince

 

Last night was a very long and tiring night. Ron never did get to make good on his threats to come and break us up even though I was closer to spending fifteen minutes with Ariana than five. I managed to get a very dirty look from him for that. Then there was the typical back to school prattle that Lavender and Parvati get up to every year.

I swear the two of them talk about all the cute boys they saw over the summer so much that I’d of thought they’d want to turn into boys themselves just so that they could spend more time with them. When I told Hermione this, she only shook her head at me, and told me that I couldn’t really judge because I didn’t know what it was like to be attracted to boys myself.

So having the superb wit that I possess, I asked Hermione what it felt like to be attracted to Ron. After she nearly died choking, and her face changing tomato red. I do believe that Hermione never did get around to answering my question. The next morning Hermione and I trot down the stairs to the common room to meet up with the boys.

As soon as we enter the common room Harry jumps on Hermione to get her opinion on the whole Malfoy being a git yet again situation from yesterday.

“But he was obviously showing off for Parkinson, wasn’t he?” interjects Ron quickly, before Hermione can say anything, after hearing Harry out.

“Well,” she says uncertainly, “I don’t know. . . . It would be like Malfoy to make himself seem more important than he is . . . but that’s a big lie to tell. . . .”

“Exactly,” says Harry, but he cannot press the point, because so many people are trying to listen in to our conversation, not to mention staring at Harry and whispering behind their hands.

“Malfoy’s lied about lots of stuff before.” I say unsure still about the whole Malfoy situation.

“It’s rude to point,” Ron snaps at a particularly minuscule first-year boy as we join the queue to climb out of the portrait hole. The boy, who had been muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend, promptly turns scarlet and topples out of the hole in alarm. Ron sniggers.

“I love being a sixth year. And we’re going to be getting free time this year. Whole periods when we can just sit up here and relax.”

“We’re going to need that time for studying, Ron!” says Hermione, as we set off down the corridor.

“Yeah, but not today,” says Ron. “Today’s going to be a real doss, I reckon.”

“Hold it!” says Hermione, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth year, who is attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand. “Fanged Frisbees are banned, hand it over,” she tells him sternly. The scowling boy hands over the snarling Frisbee, ducks under her arm, and takes off after his friends. Ron waits for him to vanish, then tugs the Frisbee from Hermione’s grip.

“Excellent, I’ve always wanted one of these.”

Hermione’s remonstration is drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown has apparently found Ron’s remark highly amusing. She continues to laugh as she passes us, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron looks rather pleased with himself.

I quickly yank the Frisbee away from him with a victorious grin. “You wouldn’t know how to handle one of these. From the way any positive attention from a girl gets to you, you’ll probably lose a finger before noon.” I say casting a charm to calm the snarling disk down.

Ron scowls at me, but Harry and Hermione push him along so that we can make it to breakfast before breaking out into yet another fight.

The ceiling of the Great Hall is serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. While we tuck into porridge and eggs and bacon, Harry and Ron tell Hermione about their embarrassing conversation with Hagrid the previous evening.

“But he can’t really think we’d continue Care of Magical Creatures!” she says, looking distressed. “I mean, when has any of us expressed . . . you know . . . any enthusiasm?”

“Well I have.” I say somewhat defensively. Hermione freezes for a second before looking at me abashedly.

“That’s different Jamie. You don’t actually like school.” She says, and I stiffen at the accusation from her. I cast my eyes down at my plate, and push around the rest of my food suddenly not all that interesting in eating anymore.

“That’s it, though, innit?” says Ron, swallowing an entire fried egg whole. “We were the ones who made the most effort in classes because we like Hagrid. But he thinks we liked the stupid subject. D’you reckon anyone’s going to go on to N.E.W.T.?”

The three of them avoid Hagrid’s eye and return his cheery wave only halfheartedly when he leaves the staff table ten minutes later.

After we have eaten, we remain in our places, awaiting Professor McGonagall’s descent from the staff table. The distribution of class schedules is more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needs first to confirm that everybody has achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s.

Hermione is immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, and shoots off to a first-period Ancient Runes class without further ado. Neville takes a little longer to sort out; his round face is anxious as Professor McGonagall looks down his application and then consults his O.W.L. results.

“Herbology, fine,” she says. “Professor Sprout will be delighted to see you back with an ‘Outstanding’ O.W.L. And you qualify for Defense Against the Dark Arts with ‘Exceeds Expectations.’ But the problem is Transfiguration. I’m sorry, Longbottom, but an ‘Acceptable’ really isn’t good enough to continue to N.E.W.T. level. I just don’t think you’d be able to cope with the coursework.”

Neville hangs his head. Professor McGonagall peers at him through her square spectacles.

“Why do you want to continue with Transfiguration, anyway? I’ve never had the impression that you particularly enjoyed it.”

Neville looks miserable and mutters something about “my grandmother wants.”

“Hmph,” snorts Professor McGonagall. “It’s high time your grandmother learned to be proud of the grandson she’s got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have — particularly after what happened at the Ministry.”

Neville turns very pink and blinks confusedly; Professor McGonagall has never paid him a compliment before.

“I’m sorry, Longbottom, but I cannot let you into my N.E.W.T. class. I see that you have an ‘Exceeds Expectations’ in Charms, however — why not try for a N.E.W.T. in Charms?”

“My grandmother thinks Charms is a soft option,” mumbles Neville.

“Nothing soft about Charms.” I grumble under my breath, and Ron and Harry snicker at me.

“Take Charms,” says Professor McGonagall, “and I shall drop Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not necessarily worthless.” Smiling slightly at the look of delighted incredulity on Neville’s face, Professor McGonagall taps a blank schedule with the tip of her wand and handed it, now carrying details of his new classes, to Neville.

Professor McGonagall turns next to Parvati Patil, whose first question is whether Firenze, the handsome centaur, is still teaching Divination.

“He and Professor Trelawney are dividing classes between them this year,” says Professor McGonagall, a hint of disapproval in her voice; it is common knowledge that she despises the subject of Divination. “The sixth year is being taken by Professor Trelawney.”

Parvati sets off for Divination five minutes later looking slightly crestfallen. I can’t help but enjoy my grim satisfaction over hearing that. I glance over at the Hufflepuff table to see if I can catch a glimpse of Ariana. I see her and her friends huddled together looking over their schedules, and I can’t help but hope that we have classes together.

McGonagall turns to me next looking over my results. “Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Professor Flitwick was exceedingly pleased with your results. Herbology, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures… you’ll be one of a few if not the only— are you fine with that Pendragon?” She peers at me over her spectacles. I give her a wide grin and nod my head.

“Now listen up you three Potions is open to N.E.W.T. students who have an E in their O.W.L.s so I suggest that the three of you continue along with it.” She says leveling Harry, Ron, and I with a hard look.

“How is this possible?” Harry questions Professor McGonagall. She gives him an exasperated look.

“Professor Slughorn is more than willing to teach students of your level in Potions. Is it still not your ambition to become an Auror Mr. Potter?” She snaps while handing me my completed schedule. I watch as she fills out schedules for Harry and Ron. I glance over to the Ravenclaw table hoping to get a glimpse of Luka before classes start today, but sigh when I realize that he’s already off to class.

“Oh, and Potter, I have a list of twenty hopefuls who’ve put their names down for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. I will get you the list in due course, and you can set up the trials at you leisure.” With that McGonagall is swooping down the table to get some last minute students their schedules after handing Ron his completed one. Harry and Ron have identical schedules that almost match up with mine.

We slowly start to leave the table with Harry still worrying about the fact that the three of us have no supplies for Potions. Ron on the other hand is far more excited.

“Look,” says Ron delightedly, gazing at his schedule, “we’ve got a free period now . . . and a free period after break . . . and after lunch . . . excellent! Well except for you Jamie, good luck with Hagrid.”

I grimace still wondering if this is the right thing to do or not. Its not like I have some specific career I’m shooting for like Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Wow, it really makes me sound like a duffer putting it that way. Before we can leave I’m caught by my arm, and I turn to see the smiling face of my girlfriend. Girlfriend… I love saying that word.

“Ari!” I say happily unintentionally leaning in closer to her. Her smile widens, and I’m dazed for a slight moment.

“Hey Jame, I was just wondering how your scheduling went?” She says. I blink and look down at the paper in front of me.

“Oh good. I got into everything I wanted. I think one of my classes is going to be a little light.” I say, and she glances down at my schedule and nods her head.

“Well at least you’ll be outside. If you were crammed in here for any longer than necessary I’d be worried about you flying out one of the windows.” And just like that my uncertainty is gone. I grin at her again, then glance at her paper.

“You should be getting to class Miss Dumbledore. I can’t be the reason that you were late on your first day of class. Your grandfather will kill me, and well I kinda need to stay on his good side.” I say, and she chuckles. Ariana takes another step closer to me and our faces are only inches apart.

The rest of the world is fading away and its only Ariana and I. “This whole being apart thing is killing me. I’ve gotten spoiled sharing a room with you over the summer, even though your sister was in the room as well. I don’t think that I’m going to be able to survive the school day.” She husks, and a shiver rolls down my spine.

Oh what things she can do to me. “A-Ari—” I choke, realizing what a situation that we’re getting ourselves into. From the way her brown eyes are dancing merrily she realizes it as well and is enjoying this newfound power.

“Fine. I’ll see you later.” She says brushing by me, but not before buzzing my cheek with a kiss, and setting my skin on fire. I blink and she’s gone. I hear a snort from behind me, and spin to see an extremely amused Harry, and Ron who looks about three seconds away from throwing up.

“What?” I say rather defensively, collecting myself so that we can start our walk back up to the common room.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just that you were awfully close there back in the Great Hall. You two going to be— well I dunno public?” Harry asks now looking slightly uncomfortable. I bite down on my lip; we haven’t really talked about what we were going to do now that we’re at school. Sure my friends and family are okay with me being well— with Ariana. But the world isn’t all like them. That’s what worries me.

“I don’t know…” I say worriedly. Ron rolls his eyes and shoves me with his shoulder.

“Well you certainly have no problem being around me, your own brother. You could put me out of my misery y’know and not do all that snogging stuff around me.” He says. I can’t help but grin faintly at that.

“Well where would be the fun in that?” I chuckle and he glares at me as Harry laughs at us.

We return to the common room, which is empty apart from a half dozen seventh years, including Katie Bell, the only remaining member of the original Gryffindor Quidditch team that Harry and I joined in our first year.

“I thought you’d get that, well done,” she calls over, pointing at the Captain’s badge on Harry’s chest. “Tell me when you call trials!”

“Don’t be stupid,” says Harry, “you don’t need to try out, I’ve watched you play for five years. . . .”

“You mustn’t start off like that,” she says warningly. “For all you know, there’s someone much better than me out there. Good teams have been ruined before now because Captains just kept playing the old faces, or letting in their friends. . . .”

Ron looks a little uncomfortable and steals the Fanged Frisbee from me. It zooms around the common room, snarling and attempting to take bites of the tapestry.  Crookshanks’s yellow eyes follow it and he hisses when it comes too close.

An hour later we reluctantly leave the sunlit common room for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below. Hermione is already queuing outside, carrying an armful of heavy books and looking put-upon.

“We got so much homework for Runes,” she says anxiously, when Harry, Ron, and I join her. “A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and I’ve got to read these by Wednesday!”

“That sounds atrocious.” I say blanching at the sheer amount of work from one class.

“Shame,” yawns Ron.

“You wait,” she says resentfully. “I bet Snape gives us loads.”

“Please don’t speak such horrible things.” I mumble trying to quell the panic I begin to feel bubbling up inside of me.

The classroom door opens as I finish, and Snape steps into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair. Silence falls over the queue immediately.

“Inside,” he says.

I look around as we enter. Snape has imposed his personality upon the room already; it is gloomier than usual, as curtains have been drawn over the windows, and is lit by candlelight. New pictures adorn the walls, many of them showing people who appear to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody speaks as we settle down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures. Just lovely.

“I have not asked you to take out your books,” says Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk; Hermione hastily drops her copy of Confronting the Faceless back into her bag and stows it under her chair. “I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention.”

His black eyes rove over our upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Harry’s than anyone else’s.

“You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe. Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced.”

Snape sets off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class cranes their necks to keep him in view.

“The Dark Arts,” says Snape, “are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible.”

I raise an eyebrow slightly at his speech. It almost seems as if Snape has an admiration for the subject.

“Your defenses,” says Snape, a little louder, “must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures” — he indicates a few of them as he sweeps past — “give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse” — he waves a hand towards a witch who is clearly shrieking in agony — “feel the Dementor’s Kiss” — a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall — “or provoke the aggression of the Inferius” — a bloody mass upon the ground.

“Has an Inferius been seen, then?” says Parvati Patil in a high-pitched voice. “Is it definite, is he using them?”

“The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past,” says Snape, “which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now . . .”

He sets off again around the other side of the classroom towards his desk, and again, we watch him as he walks, his dark robes billowing behind him.

“. . . you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?”

Hermione’s hand shoots into the air. Snape takes his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he has no choice, before saying curtly, “Very well — Miss Granger?”

“Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you’re about to perform,” says Hermione, “which gives you a split-second advantage.”

“An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six,” says Snape dismissively (over in the corner, Malfoy sniggers), “but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress to using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some” — his gaze lingers maliciously upon Harry once more — “lack.”

“You will now divide,” Snape goes on, “into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on.”

Although Snape does not know it, Harry taught at least half the class (everyone who was a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of us have ever cast the charm without speaking, however. A reasonable amount of cheating ensues; many people are merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud.

Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Hermione manages to repel my muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word, a feat that would surely have earned her twenty points for Gryffindor from any reasonable teacher, but which Snape ignores. He sweeps between us as we practice, looking just as much like an overgrown bat as ever, lingering to watch Harry and Ron struggling with the task.

Ron, who is supposed to be jinxing Harry, is purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry has his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seems unlikely ever to come.

“Pathetic, Weasley,” says Snape, after a while. “Here — let me show you —”

He turns his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacts instinctively; all thought of nonverbal spells forgotten, he yells, “Protego!”

I wince realizing what is going to happen. Both Harry and I have probably more then our fair share of teacher related stress and fear.

His Shield Charm is so strong Snape is knocked off-balance and hits a desk. The whole class looks around and now watches as Snape rights himself, scowling.

“Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?”

“Yes,” says Harry stiffly.

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’ Professor.”

Several people gasp, including Hermione. Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, Seamus, and I grin appreciatively. I can appreciate it for what it is stupidity but hilarious stupidity at that.

“Detention, Saturday night, my office,” says Snape. “I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter . . . not even ‘the Chosen One.’”

“That was brilliant, Harry!” chortles Ron, once we are safely on our way to break a short while later.

“You seem to really want to keep picking fights with professors like last year.” I say not exactly liking what’s happening to my friend, even if it is Snape.

“You really shouldn’t have said it,” says Hermione, frowning at Ron. “What made you?”

“He tried to jinx me, in case you didn’t notice!” fumes Harry. “I had enough of that during those Occlumency lessons! Why doesn’t he use another guinea pig for a change? What’s Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting him teach Defense? Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff —”

“Well,” says Hermione, “I thought he sounded a bit like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yes, when you were telling us what it’s like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn’t just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts — well, wasn’t that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?”

Harry looked shocked that Hermione had thought his words so important enough to memorize like one of her prized textbooks.

“Harry! Hey, Harry!”

I look around; Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on last year’s Gryffindor Quidditch team, is hurrying towards Harry holding a roll of parchment.

“For you,” pants Sloper. “Listen, I heard you’re the new Captain. When’re you holding trials?”

“I’m not sure yet,” says Harry looking a little leery. “I’ll let you know.”

“Oh, right. I was hoping it’d be this weekend —”

Harry doesn’t even pay attention to the rest of Sloper’s sentence before hurrying away with Ron and Hermione tailing behind him. I give Sloper a regretful smile before hurrying after the three of them.

When I catch up with them around the corner I see that they are reading the parchment.

_Dear Harry,_

_I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come along to my office at 8 p.m. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops._

“He enjoys Acid Pops?” says Ron, who read the message over Harry’s shoulder and is looking perplexed.

“I would have taken him for a Chocolate Frog man myself.” I hum, leaning back against the wall of the corridor.

“It’s the password to get past the gargoyle outside his study,” says Harry in a low voice. “Ha! Snape’s not going to be pleased. . . . I won’t be able to do his detention!”

“Because that’s the most important part of private lessons with Dumbledore.” Hermione says with a disgruntled look on her face.

“Course Mione.” I reply with a wide grin, and my best friend rolls her eyes at me, though I daresay it was fondly.

We spend the whole of break speculating on what Dumbledore will teach Harry. Ron thinks it most likely to be spectacular jinxes and hexes of the type the Death Eaters will not know. Hermione says such things are illegal, and thinks it much more likely that Dumbledore wants to teach Harry advanced Defensive magic. I proposed that he just wanted to spend more time with Harry. How am I to know what he wants to teach? After break, she goes off to Arithmancy while Harry, Ron, and I return to the common room, where we grudgingly start Snape’s homework.

This turned out to be so complex that we still have not finished when Hermione joins us for Harry and Ron’s after-lunch free. I on the other hand had to go out to my class with Hagrid. I have a dreadful feeling in my gut that there won’t be another soul out there along with us.

I’m unfortunately proved right, when I see a morose Hagrid sitting out front his hut with Fang’s giant head over his lap. Fang perks up when I approach, but Hagrid doesn’t. He just gives me a long look before flatly telling me to leave and get on to another class.

To say that the period was challenging would be an understatement. I ended up arguing with Hagrid half the time to keep me as a student while also finishing my DADA assignment for he said that I was wasting my time. In the end he finally gave in to me being his student with a huff, and agreed to see me next time, as long as I didn’t bring any of my friends around.

Needless to say I was exhausted by the time the bell rang for the afternoon’s double Potions and I beat the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that has, for so long, been Snape’s.

When I arrive in the corridor I see that there are only a dozen or so people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle have evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins have made it through, including Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws are there (great a class with Luka and his attitude), and two Hufflepuffs, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry seems to like despite his rather pompous manner, and Ariana Dumbledore.

I can’t help the wide grin that spreads across my face at the sight of her. She’s half paying attention to what Ernie is saying before she spots me and in a heartbeat she abandons the conversation and slides alongside me. “Well someone looks like they just came back from back to back Quidditch games that had two very awful seekers.” She murmurs, and I let a chuckle out at that.

Out of the corner of my eyes I see my friends arrive looking rather haggard themselves and Ernie shoots over to them since Ariana had abandoned him earlier.  “You have no idea. Hagrid was stuck between throwing me out of his class, and quitting being a professor all together.” I say rubbing my forehead trying to relieve the beginning of the headache that I can feel pounding behind my eyes.

“Well I’m sure it will get better soon. It’s only the first day Jamie, just give him some time.” Ariana squeezes my hand, and I smile at her appreciatively. Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of blond, and see that Malfoy is staring at the two of us. I realize how close together Ari and I are standing, and that we’re still holding hands. I quickly release her hand and take a step away from her, trying to ignore the hurt look that I see flash over her face.

I cock my head slightly in Malfoy’s direction, and I watch as Ariana focuses her gaze over there, her eyes widening at seeing Malfoy’s eyes on us. Before she can say anything, the door opens and Slughorn’s protruding belly precedes him out the door.

As we file into the room, his great walrus mustache curves above his beaming mouth, and he greets Harry and Zabini with particular enthusiasm his smile waning only a little at the sight of Luka and I. He must sense that we don’t like him that much, but hopefully that won’t put him off too much from trying to collect us, so that we can help Dumbledore out.

The dungeon is, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ariana, and I sniff interestedly as we pass large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins take a table together, as do the four Ravenclaws. This leaves Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I to share a table with Ernie and Ariana. If a table of six offends Slughorn he doesn’t show it.

I settle down in between Hermione and Ariana quite pleased with how this class is starting out already. I normally wouldn’t have potions with my girlfriend but this is a nice change of pace for me.

We chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that is emitting one of the most seductive scents I have ever inhaled. Ariana’s eyes suddenly brighten and she leans in close to me. “What do you smell Jame?” She whispers. I startle a little before taking a deep breath, and I almost let out a moan at the warm feeling that infuses me.

I can’t help the dopey smile that comes to my face. “The smell of fresh ground coffee, new parchment, and vanilla… its you.” I say slightly stunned that I can sense all of this that reminds me of Ariana. A large grin appears on her face.

Before I can think farther into the revelation Slughorn grabs the attention of the class. “Now then, now then, now then,” says Slughorn, whose massive outline is quivering through the many shimmering vapors. “Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don’t forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making. . . .”

“Sir?” says Harry, raising his hand.

“Harry, m’boy?”

“I haven’t got a book or scales or anything — nor’s Ron, and Jamie — we didn’t realize we’d be able to do the N.E.W.T., you see —”

“Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention . . . not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I’m sure we can lend you some scales, and we’ve got a small stock of old books here, they’ll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts. . . .”

Slughorn strides over to a corner cupboard and, after a moment’s foraging, emerges with three very battered-looking copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, which he gives to Harry, Ron, and I along with three sets of tarnished scales.

“Now then,” says Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threaten to burst off, “I’ve prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of ’em, even if you haven’t made ’em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?”

He indicates the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. I raise myself slightly in my seat and see what looks like plain water boiling away inside it.

Hermione’s well-practiced hand hits the air before anybody else’s; Slughorn points at her.

“It’s Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth,” says Hermione.

“You know I’ve almost missed her know-it-all ways.” Ariana murmurs. I glance at her and I can see the pleased smile on her face, and that relaxes me. I know that Hermione and Ariana are friends but I still worry about having trouble with one or both of them.

“Very good, very good!” says Slughorn happily. “Now,” he continues, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, “this one here is pretty well known. . . . Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too . . . Who can — ?”

Hermione’s hand is fastest once more.

“It’s Polyjuice Potion, sir,” she says.

“Mione’s on a roll.” I whisper happily, snickering at Ron’s bewildered expression.

I too recognized the slow-bubbling, mudlike substance in the second cauldron, and remember it from when Hermione successfully made it back in second year.

“Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here . . . yes, my dear?” says Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused, as Hermione’s hand punches the air again.

“It’s Amortentia!”

“It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask,” says Slughorn, who is looking mightily impressed, “but I assume you know what it does?”

“It’s the most powerful love potion in the world!” says Hermione.

“Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?”

“And the steam rising in characteristic spirals,” says Hermione enthusiastically, “and it’s supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and —”

But she turns slightly pink and does not complete the sentence.

“May I ask your name, my dear?” says Slughorn, ignoring Hermione’s embarrassment.

I grin at Ariana’s muted chuckles from beside me. I more than likely have some redness to my own face now that I know what the potion is and what the smells are.

“Hermione Granger, sir.”

“Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?”

“No, I don’t think so, sir. I’m Muggle-born, you see.”

I see Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them snigger, but Slughorn shows no dismay; on the contrary, he beams and looks from Hermione to Harry, who is sitting next to her.

“Oho! ‘One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she’s the best in our year!’ I’m assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?”

“Yes, sir,” says Harry.

“Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger,” says Slughorn genially.

I smile at Hermione, seeing that she looks both pleased and bashful now.

“You want to know what I smell?” Ariana whispers right next to me ear, and for the second time today a shiver runs down my spine.

“What?” I ask a little breathlessly even for a whisper.   
“I smell broomstick polish, Weasley Wheeze products, and a faint dash of peppermint.” Well if my face wasn’t red to begin with it definitely was now. I try to clear my throat subtly but judging by the annoyed and slightly grossed out look on Ron’s face, I wasn’t that subtle.

I change my gaze to Malfoy who looks rather as he did the time Hermione punched him in the face. Hermione turns to Harry with a radiant expression and whispers,  “Did you really tell him I’m the best in the year? Oh, Harry!”

“Well, what’s so impressive about that?” whispers Ron, who for some reason looks annoyed. “You are the best in the year — I’d’ve told him so if he’d asked me!”

Hermione smiles but makes a “shhing” gesture, so that we can hear what Slughorn is saying. Ron looks slightly disgruntled.

“Amortentia doesn’t really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room — oh yes,” he says, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom are smirking skeptically. “When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love. . . .

“And now,” says Slughorn, “it is time for us to start work.”

“Sir, you haven’t told us what’s in this one,” says Ernie Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn’s desk. The potion within is splashing about merrily; it is the color of molten gold, and large drops are leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle has spilled.

“Oho,” says Slughorn again. I am sure that Slughorn did not forget the potion at all, but has waited to be asked for dramatic effect. “Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it,” he turns, smiling, to look at Hermione, who has let out an audible gasp, “that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?”

“It’s liquid luck,” says Hermione excitedly. “It makes you lucky!”

The whole class seems to sit up a little straighter. Now all I can see of Malfoy is the back of his sleek blond head, because he is at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention. I glance at Harry to see that he’s focusing on Malfoy as well. This is going to end badly.

“Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it’s a funny little potion, Felix Felicis,” says Slughorn. “Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed . . . at least until the effects wear off.”

“Why don’t people drink it all the time, sir?” says Terry Boot eagerly. I flick a glance at Luka and our eyes connect for a second. The same blue that he shares with me is usually bright, but now it looks more like a stormy ocean, before he tears his gaze away forcefully to look at Slughorn. I try to swallow down my disappointment.

I feel pressure on my hand under the table, and I turn to see Ariana giving me a sad and understanding look. I squeeze back tightly in thanks, not bothering to let go of her hand.

“Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence,” says Slughorn. “Too much of a good thing, you know . . . highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally . . .”

“Have you ever taken it, sir?” asks Michael Corner with great interest.

“Twice in my life,” says Slughorn. “Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days.”

He gazes dreamily into the distance. Whether he is playacting or not, the effect is good.

“And that,” says Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, “is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson.”

There is silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seems magnified tenfold.

“One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis,” says Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. “Enough for twelve hours’ luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt.

“Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions . . . sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only . . . and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!”

“So,” says Slughorn, suddenly brisk, “how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!”

There is a scraping as everyone draws their cauldrons towards them and some loud clunks as people begin adding weights to their scales, but nobody speaks. The concentration within the room is almost tangible. I see Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It cannot be clearer that Malfoy really wants that lucky day.

I flip to page ten and start working on creating the potion. It’s a lot harder than it looks, with many of the instructions not working the way that they should. The only one that seems to be having any sort of luck is Harry. His potion is turning the correct shade of lilac instead of dark purple that the rest of us have. One of the sopophorous beans that Ron was trying to cut flies across the table connecting with my eye.

Have you ever had a hard little object shoot into your eye before? Its not pleasant having that blinding pain searing your cornea. With a yelp of pain I drop my ladle and clap my hand over my eye.

“Jamie? Jame are you okay?” Ariana demands dropping her own instruments and grabbing me by the shoulders.

“Shit! I’m sorry Jamie, these things are just so damn hard to cut!” Ron cries. I wave off his apology, while attempting to blink away the pain. It takes a few minutes to convince my friends, girlfriend, and the professor that I’m fine, but eventually they give in, but not before Ariana threatens to take me to the hospital wing if my sight doesn’t get better by the end of class.

During the last few minutes Hermione gets increasingly exasperated for Harry’s potion seems to be almost perfect if the book is anything to go by while the rest of us have potions somewhere in the murky region of colors. Harry’s was the only pale one in sight it seems.

“And time’s . . . up!” calls Slughorn. “Stop stirring, please!”

Slughorn moves slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He makes no comment, but occasionally gives the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reaches the table where we are sitting. He smiles ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron’s cauldron. He passes over Ernie’s navy concoction. Hermione’s potion he gives an approving nod. Ariana and I both get a slight smile at the blueish color in ours. Then he sees Harry’s, and a look of incredulous delight spreads over his face.

“The clear winner!” he cries to the dungeon. “Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it’s clear you’ve inherited your mother’s talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are — one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!”

Harry slips the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket. There are furious looks on the Slytherins’ and Hermione looks disappointed. Ron looks simply dumbfounded.

“How did you do that?” he whispers to Harry as we leave the dungeon.

“Got lucky, I suppose,” says Harry, because Malfoy is within earshot.

“Well at least someone’s having a good day.” I say grimacing at the light pain that’s still in my eye.

“See me after dinner. I want to take another look at your eye.” Ariana tells me at the entrance to the Great Hall. I nod my head, and watch her for a second as she makes her way over to her friends at the Hufflepuff table.

Once we are securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for dinner, Harry seems to feel safe enough to tell us. Hermione’s face becomes stonier with every word he utters about the book with someone else’s writing in it.

“I s’pose you think I cheated?” he finishes, aggravated by her expression.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly your own work, was it?” she says stiffly.

“Here we go again.” I mutter trying to deal with the now dueling pains of my eye and the headache still sticking with me.

“He only followed different instructions to ours,” says Ron. “Could’ve been a catastrophe, couldn’t it? But he took a risk and it paid off.” He heaves a sigh.    “Slughorn could’ve handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one’s ever written on. Puked on, by the look of page fifty-two, but —”

“Hang on,” says a voice close by Harry’s left ear. I look around and see that Ginny has joined us. “Did I hear right? You’ve been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?”

She looks alarmed and angry. Crap now there’s even more stuff to deal with like calming my sister down.

“It’s nothing,” Harry says reassuringly, lowering his voice. “It’s not like, you know, Riddle’s diary. It’s just an old textbook someone’s scribbled on.”

“But you’re doing what it says?”

“I just tried a few of the tips written in the margins, honestly, Ginny, there’s nothing funny —”

“Ginny’s got a point,” says Hermione, perking up at once. “We ought to check that there’s nothing odd about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?”

“Hey!” says Harry indignantly, as she pulls his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and raises her wand.

“Specialis Revelio!” she says, rapping it smartly on the front cover.

Nothing whatsoever happens. The book simply lays there, looking old and dirty and dog-eared.

“Finished?” says Harry irritably. “Or d’you want to wait and see if it does a few backflips?”

“It seems all right,” says Hermione, still staring at the book suspiciously. “I mean, it really does seem to be . . . just a textbook.”

“Good. Then I’ll have it back,” says Harry, snatching it off the table, but it slips from his hand and lands open on the floor. Since Harry is sitting next to me I glance down at the book and see that it is open to the first page of the textbook and there’s only one line scrawled onto it.

_This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince._

Well that’s not creepy at all. “Jamie? What happened to your eye?” Ginny says with a confused look on her face.

Yep, that about sums up the day that I’ve been having. Lets just hope that this year turns out to be a little more relaxing than the last few years.


	8. Hermione's Helping Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 8-Hermione’s Helping Hand

 

Harry had been spending the next week following the Half-Blood Prince’s directions and besides his success in the class, he had only managed to irk Hermione further. This occurs mainly in his dogged insistence that the Half-Blood Prince is in fact a male instead of a female. I’m as much for women’s rights as the next girl, but I honestly don’t see the point in arguing this until I’m blue in the face.

Harry had his first lesson alone with Dumbledore and it was quite shocking one to say the least. Hearing him tell us all about the Gaunts and the Riddles and how Voldemort came to be was a very scary bed time story that I’m almost upset that I ever heard to begin with. The only good thing to really come out of it was to know that Voldemort was indeed a half-blood himself having a muggle father.

As Hermione predicted, the sixth years’ free periods are not the hours of blissful relaxation Ron anticipated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with the vast amount of homework we are being set. Not only are we studying as though we have exams every day, but the lessons themselves have become more demanding than ever before. Harry barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to us these days; even Hermione has had to ask her to repeat instructions once or twice. I’m just lucky that I don’t accidently kill someone. Incredibly, and to Hermione’s increasing resentment, Harry’s best subject has suddenly become Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.

I swear this book is not even mine, and it’s slowly beginning to take over my life since it’s all that my friends can talk (argue) about these days. And they wonder why I sneak off to spend more of my time with Ariana than them. She can at least make studying interesting if not productive (make out breaks even hour or so).

Nonverbal spells are now expected, not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too. I frequently look over at my classmates in the common room or at mealtimes to see them purple in the face and straining as though they have overdosed on U-No-Poo; but I know that they are really struggling to make spells work without saying incantations aloud. It is a relief to get outside into the greenhouses; we are dealing with more dangerous plants than ever in Herbology, but at least we are still allowed to swear loudly if the Venomous Tentacula seizes us unexpectedly from behind. It’s also another class that I have with my girlfriend.

One result of our enormous workload and the frantic hours of practicing nonverbal spells is that Harry, Ron, and Hermione have so far been unable to find time to go and visit Hagrid. He has stopped coming to meals at the staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions when we passed him in the corridors or out in the grounds, he mysteriously failed to notice them or hear their greetings only talking to me to remind me of an assignment or tool that I will need for class.

“We’ve got to go and explain,” says Hermione, looking up at Hagrid’s huge empty chair at the staff table the following Saturday at breakfast.

“We’ve got Quidditch tryouts this morning!” says Ron. “And we’re supposed to be practicing that Aguamenti Charm from Flitwick! Anyway, explain what? How are we going to tell him we hated his stupid subject?”

“We didn’t hate it!” says Hermione looking to me for help.

“Don’t look at me. I’m the only one taking the class and suffering through his ruddy mood swings. We all know that I wasn’t the favorite.” I say casting a knowing look at Harry.

“Speak for yourself, I haven’t forgotten the skrewts,” says Ron darkly giving me a look and a kick under the table. “And I’m telling you now, we’ve had a narrow escape. You didn’t hear him going on about his gormless brother — we’d have been teaching Grawp how to tie his shoelaces if we’d stayed.”

“I hate not talking to Hagrid,” says Hermione, looking upset.

“I haven’t even seen Grawp since the start of classes.” I say narrowing my eyes back at Ron. I know that he’s nervous about tryouts today but that’s no reason to bruise my shin before the day even starts.

“We’ll go down after Quidditch,” Harry assures her. “But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied.” He looks slightly nervous at confronting the first hurdle of his Captaincy. “I dunno why the team’s this popular all of a sudden.”

I can’t contain my scoff. Harry can be so daft sometimes.

“Oh, come on, Harry,” says Hermione, suddenly impatient. “It’s not Quidditch that’s popular, it’s you! You’ve never been more interesting, and frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable.”

Ron gags on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spares him one look of disdain before turning back to Harry.

“Please never say that again. I can’t get the image of Harry up on a platform being sold off to witches as a prize out of my head!” I cry scrubbing at my eyes to get the scarring picture to leave my brain.

“Everyone knows you’ve been telling the truth now, don’t they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they’re calling you ‘the Chosen One’ — well, come on, can’t you see why people are fascinated by you?” Hermione pushes on after giving me a scathing look.

Harry’s face is as red as a tomato, even though the ceiling still looks cold and rainy, the perfect conditions for a Quidditch tryout. Yay.

“And you’ve been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway. . . .”

“You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look,” says Ron, shaking back his sleeves. I don’t dare reveal that I still have the phantom pains of the cutting curse.

“And it doesn’t hurt that you’ve grown about a foot over the summer either,” Hermione finishes, ignoring Ron.

“I’m tall,” says Ron inconsequentially.

The post owls arrive, swooping down through rain-flecked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people are receiving more post than usual; anxious parents are keen to hear from their children and to reassure them, in turn, that all is well at home. Harry is very surprised, to see the snowy white Hedwig circling amongst all the brown and gray owls. She lands in front of him carrying a large, square package. A moment later, an identical package lands in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl, Pigwidgeon.

I grin as Dionysus as he drops the last package like the boys into my hands. I toss up a link of sausage that he snaps up with a hoot before flying back off with Hedwig.

“Ha!” says Harry, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making, fresh from Flourish and Blotts.

“Oh good,” says Hermione, delighted. “Now you can give that graffitied copy back.”

“Are you mad?” says Harry. “I’m keeping it! Look, I’ve thought it out —”

He pulls the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and taps the cover with his wand, muttering, “Diffindo!” The cover falls off. He does the same thing with the brand-new book (Hermione looks scandalized). He then swaps the covers, taps each, and says, “Reparo!”

I shake my head as I push aside my parcel. I knew that Harry was never going to give up that book without a fight. This is just going to draw out the war over the bloody book. I let out a sigh, not happy that this is going to be dragged on further in the year.

There sits the Prince’s copy, disguised as a new book, and there sits the fresh copy from Flourish and Blotts, looking thoroughly secondhand.

“I’ll give Slughorn back the new one, he can’t complain, it cost nine Galleons.”

Hermione presses her lips together, looking angry and disapproving, but is distracted by a fourth owl landing in front of her carrying that day’s copy of the Daily Prophet. She unfolds it hastily and scans the front page.

“Anyone we know dead?” asks Ron in a determinedly casual voice; he poses the same question every time Hermione opens her paper.

“No, but there have been more dementor attacks,” saus Hermione. “And an arrest.”

“Really? Who this time, anyone we know?” I ask posing the question like my brother.

“Excellent, who?” says Harry, thinking of Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Stan Shunpike,” says Hermione.

“What?” says Harry, startled.

“‘Stanley Shunpike, conductor on the popular Wizarding conveyance the Knight Bus, has been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater activity. Mr. Shunpike, 21, was taken into custody late last night after a raid on his Clapham home . . .’”

“Stan Shunpike, a Death Eater?” says Harry, remembering the spotty youth he had first met three years before. “No way!”

“He might have been put under the Imperius Curse,” says Ron reasonably. “You never can tell.”

“Some people can be swayed to the wrong side without magic though.” I say grimacing down into the plate of food that I’m suddenly not hungry for anymore.

“It doesn’t look like it Ron,” says Hermione, who is still reading. “It says here he was arrested after he was overheard talking about the Death Eaters’ secret plans in a pub.” She looks up with a troubled expression on her face. “If he was under the Imperius Curse, he’d hardly stand around gossiping about their plans, would he?”

“It sounds like he was trying to make out he knew more than he did,” says Ron.  “Isn’t he the one who claimed he was going to become Minister of Magic when he was trying to chat up those veela?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” says Harry. “I dunno what they’re playing at, taking Stan seriously.”

“Times have changed everyone is scared of war again. Nobody should be as stupid to be running their mouths off about stuff like that.” I snap.

“They probably want to look as though they’re doing something,” says Hermione, frowning. “People are terrified — you know the Patil twins’ parents want them to go home? And Eloise Midgen has already been withdrawn. Her father picked her up last night.”

“What!” says Ron, goggling at Hermione. “But Hogwarts is safer than their homes, bound to be! We’ve got Aurors, and all those extra protective spells, and we’ve got Dumbledore!”

“I don’t think we’ve got him all the time,” says Hermione very quietly, glancing toward the staff table over the top of the Prophet. “Haven’t you noticed? His seat’s been empty as often as Hagrid’s this past week.”

Harry, Ron, and I look up at the staff table. The headmaster’s chair is indeed empty. Great, that’s just terrific.

“I think he’s left the school to do something with the Order,” says Hermione in a low voice. “I mean . . . it’s all looking serious, isn’t it?”

No one answers, but I know that we are all thinking the same thing. There was a horrible incident the day before, when Hannah Abbott was taken out of Herbology to be told her mother had been found dead. We have not seen Hannah since. I spent a fair bit of last night comforting Ariana about her friend. It’s hard to be there to help someone, especially when they don’t want your help or sympathy.

I glance over at the Hufflepuff table and see that they’re all pretty subdued. I manage to connect my gaze with Ariana and she gestures to the entrance of the Great Hall. I nod subtly, and tell my friends quickly that I’ll meet up with them outside for the walk to the Quidditch Pitch.

I make my way to the quad outside of the entrance hall and wait for her to show. It only takes a minute before Ariana appears looking tired and drawn, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to smile at me.

“Hey.” She says with a tiny uplift of her lips.

“You look like hell.” I say before I can stop myself. Luckily for me Ariana snorts and lets out a small laugh.

“That’s a hell of a thing to say to a girl, but its good to see you too.” She replies, and I reach out and take her in my arms. She practically melts against me, and I tighten my arms around her a little more, wishing that I could take her pain as my own.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never been good with what to say in these situations. How is she?” I ask my girlfriend trying to make up for my faux pas earlier.

“Gone. But lets not talk about this anymore. It’s a big day for you— you my incredibly talented girlfriend who has to go kick the arses of all the other players on the pitch.” Ariana says her eyes brightening at the possibility. I feel heat rush to my cheeks at the praise that she’s giving me.

“Its only tryouts Ari. Besides we should have the best people playing on the team.” I stutter, as she shifts even closer to me in our embrace.

“You’ve been on the team since you were eleven years old Jamie Pendragon. You will be just fine.” She confirms her statement by locking our lips together in one of our more heated kisses. Thankfully we’re in a more secluded part of the quad, so we’re not as visible to people.

After a while she pulls back, and I’m left more than a little stunned. “Score some goals for me will you?” She asks with a cheeky grin on her face. I can’t help but smile at her as she pulls away from me, squeezing my hand before disappearing back inside as my friends come outside.

“Ready Jamie?” Harry asks me, as Ron has turned an interesting shade of greenish white.

“Never better.” I affirm hurrying over to them so that we can start down. If only I had seen the flash of blond hair creeping out of the shadows.

Heading down to the Quidditch pitch, we pass Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Remembering what Hermione said about the Patil twins’ parents wanting them to leave Hogwarts, I am unsurprised to see that the two best friends are whispering together, looking distressed. What does surprise me is that when Ron draws level with them, Parvati suddenly nudges Lavender, who looks around and gives Ron a wide smile.

Ron blinks at her, then returns the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly becomes something more like a strut. Harry looks like he’s going to laugh while I try not to vomit at the thought of Lavender and Ron together; Hermione, however, looks cold and distant all the way down to the stadium through the cool, misty drizzle, and departs to find a place in the stands without wishing Ron good luck.

As Harry expected, the trials take most of the morning. Half of Gryffindor House seems to have turned up, from first years who are nervously clutching a selection of the dreadful old school brooms, to seventh years who tower over the rest, looking coolly intimidating. The latter includes a large, wiry-haired boy I recognize immediately from the Hogwarts Express.

“We met on the train, in old Sluggy’s compartment,” he says confidently, stepping out of the crowd to shake Harry’s hand. “Cormac McLaggen, Keeper.”

“You didn’t try out last year, did you?” asks Harry, taking note of the breadth of McLaggen and thinking that he would probably block all three goal hoops without even moving. I can’t help but disliking him.

“I was in the hospital wing when they held the trials,” says McLaggen, with something of a swagger. “Ate a pound of doxy eggs for a bet.”

“Right,” says Harry. “Well . . . if you wait over there . . .”

I have a feeling that this is going to go terribly.

He points over to the edge of the pitch, close to where Hermione is sitting. I think I see a flicker of annoyance pass over McLaggen’s face and wonder whether McLaggen expected preferential treatment because they are both “old Sluggy’s” favorites.

Harry decides to start with a basic test, asking all applicants for the team to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the pitch. This is a good decision: The first ten is made up of first years and it cannot have been plainer that they have hardly ever flown before. Only one boy manages to remain airborne for more than a few seconds, and he is so surprised he promptly crashes into one of the goalposts.

The second group is comprised of ten of the silliest girls I have ever encountered, who, when Harry blows his whistle, merely fall about giggling and clutching one another. Romilda Vane is amongst them. When he tells them to leave the pitch, they do so quite cheerfully and go to sit in the stands to heckle everyone else.

The third group has a pileup halfway around the pitch. Most of the fourth group came without broomsticks. The fifth group were Hufflepuffs.

“If there’s anyone else here who’s not from Gryffindor,” roars Harry, who is starting to get seriously annoyed, “leave now, please!”

There is a pause, then a couple of little Ravenclaws go sprinting off the pitch, snorting with laughter. I haven’t even gotten a chance to begin flying yet.

After two hours, many complaints, and several tantrums, one involving a crashed Comet Two Sixty and several broken teeth, Harry has found himself three Chasers: Katie Bell, returning to the team after an excellent trial; Ginny Weasley, who has outflew all the competition and scored seventeen goals to boot, and me having not had a bad performance with 11 goals. Harry looks pleased with his choices, but has also shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers and is now enduring a similar battle with the rejected Beaters.

“That’s my final decision and if you don’t get out of the way for the Keepers I’ll hex you,” he bellows.

Neither of his chosen Beaters have the old brilliance of Fred and George, but Harry is still reasonably pleased with them: Jimmy Peakes, a short but broad-chested third-year boy who managed to raise a lump the size of an egg on the back of Harry’s head with a ferociously hit Bludger, and Ritchie Coote, who looks weedy but aims well. They now join the spectators in the stands to watch the selection of our last team member.

So far I’m pleased with the team that we’ve managed to cobble together. It doesn’t hurt to see the extreme happiness that Ginny is exuding from beside me, practically bouncing in her seat. She has probably hugged me eight times in the last five minutes about how pleased she is that we’re going to be flying together this year.

Harry has deliberately left the trial of the Keepers until last, hoping for an emptier stadium and less pressure on all concerned. Unfortunately, however, all the rejected players and a number of people who have come down to watch after a lengthy breakfast have joined the crowd by now, so that it was larger than ever. I think that I may have even seen Ariana down there. As each Keeper flies up to the goal hoops, the crowd roars and jeers in equal measure. I glance over at Ron, who has always had a problem with nerves; I hoped that winning our final match last term might have cured it, but apparently not: Ron is a delicate shade of green.

None of the first five applicants save more than two goals apiece. To my great disappointment, Cormac McLaggen saves four penalties out of five. On the last one, however, he shoots off in completely the wrong direction; the crowd laughs and boos and McLaggen returns to the ground grinding his teeth. I was confused at what had happened since I was the one to score on him.

Ron looks ready to pass out as he mounts his Cleansweep Eleven. “Good luck!” cries a voice from the stands. I look around, expecting to see Hermione, but it is Lavender Brown.

I make a gagging noise at that and watch as Harry gives a mortified look from a few feet away from me. Ginny swoops to a stop next to me and glares down at Lavender. “Please tell me that I’m merely delusional and that wasn’t what I think it was.” She says with a disgusted look on her face. There’s no time to commiserate the grossness of her actions though.

Yet it didn’t seem that I had to worry: Ron saves one, two, three, four, five penalties in a row. I give a big whoop and fly down with Ginny and Katie to congratulate Ron on a job well done. My focus is sidetracked though by a very red faced McLaggen up in Harry’s space. I hastily make my way over to them.

“His sister didn’t really try,” says McLaggen menacingly. There is a vein pulsing in his temple like the one Harry had often admired in Uncle Vernon’s. “She gave him an easy save.”

“Which one he has two?” I mumble by Harry’s shoulder.

“Rubbish,” says Harry coldly. “That was the one he nearly missed.”

McLaggen takes a step nearer Harry, who stands his ground this time.

“Give me another go.”

“No,” says Harry. “You’ve had your go. You saved four. Ron saved five. Ron’s Keeper, he won it fair and square. Get out of my way.”

I thinks for a moment that McLaggen might punch him so I ready myself to defend my friend, but he contents himself with an ugly grimace and storms away, growling what sounds like threats to thin air.

Harry turns around to find his new team beaming at him.

“Well done,” he croaks. “You flew really well —”

“You did brilliantly, Ron!”

This time it really is Hermione running toward us from the stands; I see Lavender walking off the pitch, arm in arm with Parvati, a rather grumpy expression on her face. Ron looks extremely pleased with himself and even taller than usual as he grins at the team and at Hermione.

“Yeah I didn’t know that the head was a standard blocking method on Ginny’s last throw. Sure that you still have some brains in there left to play?” I say grinning largely, leaping to the side to avoid his slap.

“Yeah ha ha, laugh it up Jamie, I seem to recall blocking your shot as well.” Ron says proudly. I roll my eyes at him.

“I was on my last leg, we’ve been here ages. You’re just lucky.” I comment with a grin.

After fixing the time of our first full practice for the following Thursday, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I bid good-bye to the rest of the team and head off towards Hagrid’s. A watery sun is trying to break through the clouds now and it has stopped drizzling at last. I have to admit that I’m very leery at what’s going to greet us at Hagrid’s. The three of my friends haven’t been by to visit him since the beginning of the year.

“I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty,” Ron is saying happily. “Tricky shot from Katie, did you see, had a bit of spin on it —”

“Yes, yes, you were magnificent,” says Hermione, looking amused.

“Don’t inflate his ego.” I say with a roll of my eyes.

“I was better than that McLaggen anyway,” says Ron in a highly satisfied voice ignoring my jab. “Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he’d been Confunded. . . .”

To Harry’s and my surprise, Hermione turns a very deep shade of pink at these words. Ron notices nothing; he is too busy describing each of his other penalties in loving detail.

The great gray hippogriff, Buckbeak, is tethered in front of Hagrid’s cabin. He clicks his razor-sharp beak at our approach and turns his huge head towards us.

“Oh dear,” says Hermione nervously. “He’s still a bit scary, isn’t he?”

“Come off it, you’ve ridden him, haven’t you?” says Ron.

“He’s harmless.” I comment having spent much of my class time with the creature.

Harry steps forward and bows low to the hippogriff without breaking eye contact or blinking. After a few seconds, Buckbeak sinks into a bow too.

“How are you?” Harry asks him in a low voice, moving forward to stroke the feathery head. “Missing him? But you’re okay here with Hagrid, aren’t you?”

“Oi!” says a loud voice.

Hagrid comes striding around the corner of his cabin wearing a large flowery apron and carrying a sack of potatoes. His enormous boarhound, Fang, is at his heels; Fang gives a booming bark and bounds forward.

“Git away from him! He’ll have yer fingers — oh. It’s yeh lot.”

Well this is going to just be a box full of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, in other words, absolutely horrifying.

Fang is jumping up at Hermione and Ron, attempting to lick their ears. Hagrid stands and looks at us all for a split second, then turns and strides into his cabin, slamming the door behind him.

“Hagrid!” I yell after him making for the door.

“Oh dear!” says Hermione, looking stricken.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Harry grimly. He walks over to the door, moves me out of the way and knocks loudly.

“Hagrid! Open up, we want to talk to you!”

There is no sound from within.

“If you don’t open the door, we’ll blast it open!” Harry says, pulling out his wand.

“Harry!” says Hermione, sounding shocked. “You can’t possibly —”

“Yeah, I can!” says Harry. “Stand back —”

“Harry—” I start suddenly very worried.

But before he can say anything else, the door flies open again as Harry knew it would, and there stands Hagrid, glowering down at him and looking, despite the flowery apron, positively alarming.

“I’m a teacher!” he roars at Harry. “A teacher, Potter! How dare yeh threaten ter break down my door!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” says Harry, emphasizing the last word as he stows his wand inside his robes.

Hagrid looks stunned. “Since when have yeh called me ‘sir’?”

“Since when have you called me ‘Potter’?”

“Oh, very clever,” growls Hagrid. “Very amusin’. That’s me outsmarted, innit? All righ’, come in then, yeh ungrateful little . . .”

Mumbling darkly, he stands back to let us pass. Hermione scurries in after Harry, looking rather frightened. Well this is going about as well as I imagined it would. It would have been better if they had gone to see him sooner.

“Well?” says Hagrid grumpily, as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sit down around his enormous wooden table, Fang laying his head immediately upon Harry’s knee and drooling all over his robes. “What’s this? Feelin’ sorry for me? Reckon I’m lonely or summat?”

“No,” says Harry at once. “We wanted to see you.”

“We’ve missed you!” says Hermione tremulously.

“Missed me, have yeh?” snorts Hagrid. “Yeah. Righ’.”

He stomped around, brewing up tea in his enormous copper kettle, muttering all the while. Finally he slams down four bucket-sized mugs of mahogany-brown tea in front of us and a plate of his rock cakes. Harry is hungry enough to eat some of Hagrid’s cooking, but I’m not sure that my stomach could take it; between the anxiety of the tryouts and this visit my stomach is in knots.

“Hagrid,” says Hermione timidly, when he joins us at the table and starts peeling his potatoes with a brutality that suggests that each tuber has done him a great personal wrong, “we really wanted to carry on with Care of Magical Creatures, you know.”

Hagrid gives another great snort.

“We did!” says Hermione. “But none of us could fit it into our schedules!”

“Yeah. Righ’,” says Hagrid again.

“Come on Hagrid at least hear them out.” I say pleadingly. Hagrid focuses his dark eyes on me for a second before turning them back to the potatoes. I think he feels slightly bad for taking out his frustrations on me whenever I’m here for class, but I can’t be entirely certain for he’s been in a mood since the start of this year.

There is a funny squelching sound and we all look around: Hermione lets out a tiny shriek, and Ron leaps out of his seat and hurries around the table away from the large barrel standing in the corner that they had only just noticed. It is full of what looked like foot-long maggots, slimy, white, and writhing.

“What are they, Hagrid?” asks Harry, trying to sound interested rather than revolted, but putting down his rock cake all the same.

“Giant grubs.” I answer, to which my friends give me shocked and disgusted looks. I don’t really talk with them about what I learn with Hagrid while I’m with him. Sometimes I feel like I’m training to be an apprentice game keeper when I’m here.

“And they grow into . . . ?” says Ron, looking apprehensive.

“They won’ grow inter nuthin’,” says Hagrid. “I got ’em ter feed ter Aragog.”

And without warning, he bursts into tears. Here we go again.

“Hagrid!” cries Hermione, leaping up, hurrying around the table the long way to avoid the barrel of maggots, and putting an arm around his shaking shoulders. “What is it?”

“It’s . . . him . . .” gulps Hagrid, his beetle-black eyes streaming as he mops his face with his apron. “It’s . . . Aragog. . . . I think he’s dyin’. . . . He got ill over the summer an’ he’s not gettin’ better. . . . I don’ know what I’ll do if he . . . if he . . . We’ve bin tergether so long. . . .”

See this is what I’m talking about. As much as I love the guy I just can’t feel too sorry for the death of a giant spider that tried to eat me in second year.

Hermione pats Hagrid’s shoulder, looking at a complete loss for anything to say.

“Is there — is there anything we can do?” Hermione finally asks, ignoring Ron’s frantic grimaces and head-shakings.

“I don’ think there is, Hermione,” chokes Hagrid, attempting to stem the flood of his tears. “See, the rest o’ the tribe . . . Aragog’s family . . . they’re gettin’ a bit funny now he’s ill . . . bit restive . . .”

“Yeah, I think we saw a bit of that side of them,” says Ron in an undertone.

“. . . I don’ reckon it’d be safe fer anyone but me ter go near the colony at the mo’,” Hagrid finishes, blowing his nose hard on his apron and looking up. “But thanks fer offerin’, Hermione. . . . It means a lot. . . .”

After that, the atmosphere lightens considerably and my stomach settles, for although neither Harry nor Ron have shown any inclination to go and feed giant grubs to a murderous, gargantuan spider, Hagrid seems to take it for granted that they would have liked to have done and became his usual self once more.

“Ar, I always knew yeh’d find it hard ter squeeze me inter yer timetables,” he says gruffly, pouring them more tea. “Even if yeh applied fer Time-Turners —”

“We couldn’t have done,” says Hermione. “We smashed the entire stock of Ministry Time-Turners when we were there last summer. It was in the Daily Prophet.”

“Ar, well then,” says Hagrid. “There’s no way yeh could’ve done it. . . . I’m sorry I’ve bin — yeh know — I’ve jus’ bin worried abou’ Aragog . . . an’ I did wonder whether, if Professor Grubbly-Plank had bin teachin’ yeh —”

At which all four of us state categorically and untruthfully that Professor Grubbly-Plank, who substituted for Hagrid a few times, is a dreadful teacher, with the result that by the time Hagrid waves us off the premises at dusk, he looks quite cheerful.

“I’m starving,” says Harry, once the door has closed behind us and we are hurrying through the dark and deserted grounds; he abandoned the rock cake after an ominous cracking noise from one of his back teeth. “And I’ve got that detention with Snape tonight, I haven’t got much time for dinner. . . .”

As we come into the castle we spot Cormac McLaggen entering the Great Hall. It takes him two attempts to get through the doors; he ricochets off the frame on the first attempt. Ron merely guffaws gloatingly and strides off into the Hall after him, but Harry catches Hermione’s arm and holds her back.

“What?” says Hermione defensively.

“McLaggen.” I say simply.

“If you ask me,” says Harry quietly, “McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning. And he was standing right in front of where you were sitting.”

Hermione blushes. I fight off the grin that’s threatening to spread on my face.

“Oh, all right then, I did it,” she whispers. “But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he’s got a nasty temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn’t get in — you wouldn’t have wanted someone like that on the team.”

“What was he saying?” I ask a dangerous quality seeping into my voice. Maybe I have to go and have a talk with this cretin and introduce him to my unstable and ever fluctuating power that I posses.

“Nothing I’m going to tell you.” Hermione answers quickly, and I grit my teeth in frustration. No one can bad mouth my family and get away with it.

“No,” says Harry. “No, I suppose that’s true. But wasn’t that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you’re a prefect, aren’t you?”

“Oh, be quiet,” she snaps, as he smirks.

“What are you three doing?” demands Ron, reappearing in the doorway to the Great Hall and looking suspicious.

“Nothing,” says Harry and Hermione together, and we hurry after Ron. The smell of roast beef makes my stomach ache with hunger, but we have barely taken three steps towards the Gryffindor table when Professor Slughorn appears in front of us, blocking our path.

“Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!” he booms genially, twiddling the ends of his walrus mustache and puffing out his enormous belly. “I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We’re having a little party, just a few rising stars, I’ve got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin — I don’t know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries — and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger and Miss Pendragon will favor me by coming too.”

“Yes there is quite a ‘distinguished’ group of us attending.” A familiar voice says sidling along side our small group. I instantly smile at the sight of my girlfriend.

“Ah yes and there will be Miss Dumbledore as well.” Slughorn says his cheeks turning ruddier at the thought of all the powerful last names that he can collect.

“I can’t come, Professor,” says Harry at once. “I’ve got a detention with Professor Snape.”

“Oh dear!” says Slughorn, his face falling comically. “Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I’ll just have to have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I’ll see you both later!”

He bustles away out of the Hall.

“He’s got no chance of persuading Snape,” says Harry, the moment Slughorn is out of earshot. “This detention’s already been postponed once; Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won’t do it for anyone else.”

“Oh, I wish you could come, I don’t want to go on my own!” says Hermione anxiously; I know that she is thinking about McLaggen.

“What are we chopped liver?” I ask actually sort of hurt. Ariana reaches for my hand and give it a light squeeze.

“That’s not what I meant, you and Ariana have each other, and I don’t want to be a third wheel.” Hermione says quickly. I cock my head to the side not exactly used to the third wheel reference.

“I doubt you’ll be alone, Ginny’ll probably be invited,” snaps Ron, who does not seem to have taken kindly to being ignored by Slughorn.

After dinner we make our way back to Gryffindor Tower. The common room is very crowded, as most people have finished dinner by now, but we manage to find a free table and sit down; Ron, who has been in a bad mood ever since the encounter with Slughorn, folds his arms and frowns at the ceiling. Hermione reaches out for a copy of the Evening Prophet, which somebody has left abandoned on a chair.

“Anything new?” says Harry.

“Which is code for anything depressing.” I say with a sigh.

“Not really . . .” Hermione has opened the newspaper and is scanning the inside pages. “Oh, look, your dad’s in here, Ron, Jamie — he’s all right!” she adds quickly, for Ron and I had looked around in alarm. “It just says he’s been to visit the Malfoys’ house. ‘This second search of the Death Eater’s residence does not seem to have yielded any results. Arthur Weasley of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects said that his team had been acting upon a confidential tip-off.’”

“Yeah, mine!” says Harry. “I told him at King’s Cross about Malfoy and that thing he was trying to get Borgin to fix! Well, if it’s not at their house, he must have brought whatever it is to Hogwarts with him —”

“But how can he have done, Harry?” says Hermione, putting down the newspaper with a surprised look. “We were all searched when we arrived, weren’t we?”

“Were you?” says Harry, taken aback. “I wasn’t!”

“Lucky you it was rather uncomfortable truthfully.” I say with a shiver, remembering Filch looking over me and in my trunk. I had private letters in there from Ariana that are very dear to me.

“Oh no, of course you weren’t, I forgot you were late. . . . Well, Filch ran over all of us with Secrecy Sensors when we got into the entrance hall. Any Dark object would have been found, I know for a fact Crabbe had a shrunken head confiscated. So you see, Malfoy can’t have brought in anything dangerous!”

Momentarily stymied, I watch Harry watch Ginny Weasley playing with Arnold the Pygmy Puff for a while before seeing a way around this objection.

“Someone’s sent it to him by owl, then,” he says. “His mother or someone.”

“All the owls are being checked too,” says Hermione. “Filch told us so when he was jabbing those Secrecy Sensors everywhere he could reach.”

Harry looks actually stumped this time, so I allow myself to relax. Sometimes being friends with these three can be very tiring. I glance at Ron and see that he’s staring at Lavender Brown. I fight back the urge to vomit at the sight. Oh Merlin please let this little crush not come to bloom. I beg of you.

“Can you think of any way Malfoy — ?”

“Oh, drop it, Harry,” says Ron.

“Listen, it’s not my fault Slughorn invited Hermione, Jamie, and me to his stupid party, neither of us want to go, you know!” says Harry, firing up.

“Well, as I’m not invited to any parties,” says Ron, getting to his feet again, “I think I’ll go to bed.”

He stomps off towards the door to the boys’ dormitories, leaving Harry, Hermione, and I staring after him.

“Harry?” says Katie Bell, appearing suddenly at his shoulder. “I’ve got a message for you.”

“From Professor Slughorn?” asks Harry, sitting up hopefully.

“No . . . from Professor Snape,” says Katie. I grimace. “He says you’re to come to his office at half past eight tonight to do your detention — er — no matter how many party invitations you’ve received. And he wants you to know you’ll be sorting out rotten flobberworms from good ones, to use in Potions and — and he says there’s no need to bring protective gloves.”

“Right,” says Harry grimly. “Thanks a lot, Katie.”

The three of us sit there in silence for a moment before I let out a long breath. “Well at least you don’t have to sit through a painful dinner with Slughorn.” I say still not liking the man very much. At the deadly look I receive from Harry though, I snap my jaw shut.

“Right…” I breathe. Well at least nothing’s going too terribly this year so far. If only I could learn to keep my hopefulness under control.


	9. Silver and Opals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 9- Silver and Opals

 

So it’s safe to admit that I’m not the biggest fan of Slughorn’s parties. If it wasn’t for Hermione and Ariana being attendance I would have long ago walked out of the room. Ginny shows up, but she doesn’t count for she would have egged on the sudden itch that I’ve acquired to start a food fight. Probably one of the worst things about these dinners is that Luka is there, and that makes everything three kinds of awkward since he won’t even look at Ariana and me.

What makes the whole thing even suckier is that Slughorn seems oblivious to it, but unfortunately not all Slytherins are that daft, and I’ve caught Zabini giving the three of us curious looks the last few times. I swear if Harry doesn’t come to one of these sometime soon I’m going to kill him.

Speaking of Boy Wonder he’s been moping around the castle for the past few weeks. He hasn’t seen Dumbledore for a lesson since the last one. If the increasingly grumpy look on Harry’s face is anything to go by then he’s not happy at being ignored. Ron likes comparing it to abandonment. Hermione of course can’t help but be more than a little smug since she was right about him leaving the school for some time.

Halfway through October comes our first trip of the term to Hogsmeade. I was wondered whether these trips will still be allowed, given the increasingly tight security measures around the school, but am pleased to know that they are going ahead; it is always good to get out of the castle grounds for a few hours.

This of course brings about it’s own set of problems. Ever since the first announcement of the weekend Ariana has been thrilled at the idea of going on a date. We had never thought of this before because of the sharp eye that Molly was keeping over all of us this summer, and the changing atmosphere of the world around us.

There’s something about the magic of Hogwarts though that makes people feel safe enough to do stupid things while still feeling protected, so last weekend Ariana cornered me after our shared Herbology class to officially ask me out for the Hogwarts trip.

I may have blushed harder than Neville when Snape yells at him, but after an initial bout of nervousness accepted the proposal. Again she almost blinded me with the strength of her smile. That didn’t mean that I wasn’t nervous though. We haven’t come out to the rest of the school yet, and rumors spread faster than owls delivering mail around here.

I’m not ashamed of being with Ariana, I love her, I’m just nervous about how everyone else is going to react to the news of the two of us being together. Now that it’s the morning of the trip. I’ve been awake for an hour already and its still far to early to be ready for the day. I can’t help it my stomach is twisting in excitement and nerves.

Part of me can’t wait to spend some time with Ariana alone today, but the other part is petrified. I stare out the window by the bed and commiserate with the weather, which is turning out to be stormy. Is she going to make me go to Madam Puddifoot’s? I’ve only ever looked in the window before and heard from Harry’s experience but it seems horrifyingly frightening to me.

Who needs that much pink in a place? Who needs to kiss that much in a place? My stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of sitting there with my girlfriend and everyone staring at us expecting us to kiss like we’re some strange specimen pinned to a board under a pane of glass. A shudder runs down my spine at the thought.

I’ve been so nervous about this that I’ve even asked Ginny what she was going to be doing with Dean. Admittedly it’s a little weird to ask your little sister about stuff like this. Of course my inquiry just about made her day, she was jumping around so much. Her mouth was going a mile a minute about what I should do and even some suggestions about what I should wear.

It could have been worse advice, I’m very lucky that she’s not as girly in dressing as I am so her suggestions weren’t as outlandish as Hermione’s which had ruffles. Even Ron and Harry seemed to derive some pleasure in giving me totally foolish and in no way appropriate suggestions of what to wear.

“You should wear your Quidditch kit. I’ve seen the way Ariana’s stared at you when you’re suited up.” Harry says a crooked grin on his face. That froze me in place with the mental image of Ariana checking me out every game, which led to a hot face.

“Or you could wear a sack. That would cover everything up and you could even get Ginny to wear one as well.” Ron says glancing out of the corner of his eye at that sister. I roll my eyes at that.

“I have far more appropriate clothes than that Ronald. As for controlling anything that Ginny does, that idea is as laughable as Malfoy prancing around in six inch heels.” I fired.

So this leads me to my inner torment on what’s actually going to happen today, and whether or not Ariana is going to enjoy it. Finally the sun gets a little higher in the sky, though the clouds are blocking it, and the girls around me start stirring. Hermione finally slid out of bed and that signaled to me that it was time to start getting ready.

By the time we got dressed, padding ourselves out with several of Molly’s hand-knitted sweaters and carrying cloaks, scarves, and gloves, Hermione had told me to calm down seven times already. She spent the entire walk down to breakfast reassuring me that today was going to be fine and that if Ariana had wanted to dump me she would have done so a long time ago now.

Thankfully these nerves weren’t as bad as the ones that I get before a game for I was able to actually force some food down. Harry and Ron join us at the table and Ron looks oddly thrilled for this time in the morning. Apparently Harry had practiced yet another one of the Prince’s spells besides the Toenail growth, tongue sticking to the top of the mouth, and that silence spell that cloaks conversations.

This particular one yanks someone up by their ankle to dangle them upside down in the air.

“. . . and then there was another flash of light and I landed on the bed again!” Ron grins, helping himself to sausages. I chuckle and shake my head at their antics.

Hermione on the other hand did not crack a smile during this anecdote, and now turns an expression of wintry disapproval upon Harry.

“Was this spell, by any chance, another one from that potion book of yours?” she asks. Of course it was or else I’d of used it on Malfoy far sooner.

Harry frowns at her.

“Always jump to the worst conclusion, don’t you?”

“Was it?”

“Well . . . yeah, it was, but so what?”

“So you just decided to try out an unknown, handwritten incantation and see what would happen?”

“Why does it matter if it’s handwritten?” says Harry. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I’m not really in the mood for Harry v. Hermione round 1,000.

“Because it’s probably not Ministry of Magic–approved,” says Hermione. “And also,” she adds, as Harry and Ron roll their eyes, “because I’m starting to think this Prince character was a bit dodgy.”

Both Harry and Ron shout her down at once.

“It was a laugh!” says Ron, upending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. “Just a laugh, Hermione, that’s all!”

“Dangling people upside down by the ankle?” says Hermione. “Who puts their time and energy into making up spells like that?”

“The twins.” I say immediately.

“Fred and George,” says Ron, shrugging, “it’s their kind of thing. And, er —”

“My dad,” says Harry. He seems a little shocked of himself.

“What?” say Ron, Hermione, and I together.

“My dad used this spell,” says Harry. “I — Lupin told me.”

There’s silence for a moment. “I’m not quite so sure I’d like being dangled like that.” I admit quietly. I’ve had enough scares for a while.

“See!” Hermione cries like my statement validates everything.

“Jamie doesn’t count. She’s been freaked out ever since… well last year. Before she would have loved it.” Ron declares giving me a sidelong glance. I’ve been getting those glances from a lot of people like mentioning what happened last year was going to send me into a nervous fit. That hasn’t happened— yet.

“Maybe your dad did use it, Harry,” says Hermione, “but he’s not the only one. We’ve seen a whole bunch of people use it, in case you’ve forgotten. Dangling people in the air. Making them float along, asleep, helpless.”

Harry stares at her while I wince. I remember the behavior of the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup. Ron comes to his aid though.

“That was different,” he says robustly. “They were abusing it. Harry and his dad were just having a laugh. You don’t like the Prince, Hermione,” he adds, pointing a sausage at her sternly, “because he’s better than you at Potions —”

“It’s got nothing to do with that!” says Hermione, her cheeks reddening. “I just think it’s very irresponsible to start performing spells when you don’t even know what they’re for, and stop talking about ‘the Prince’ as if it’s his title, I bet it’s just a stupid nickname, and it doesn’t seem as though he was a very nice person to me!”

“If anything he seems rather pretentious to me.” I say with an eye roll.

“I don’t see where you get that from,” says Harry heatedly ignoring me. “If he’d been a budding Death Eater he wouldn’t have been boasting about being ‘half-blood,’ would he?”

“The Death Eaters can’t all be pure-blood, there aren’t enough pure-blood wizards left,” says Hermione stubbornly. “I expect most of them are half-bloods pretending to be pure. It’s only Muggle-borns they hate, they’d be quite happy to let you, Ron, and Jamie join up.”

I choke at that thought. Just thinking about joining those ranks and being near the man who murdered my family and almost murdered me is enough to have an icy sensation creep through my chest.

“There is no way they’d let me be a Death Eater!” says Ron indignantly, a bit of sausage flying off the fork he was now brandishing at Hermione and hitting Ernie Macmillan on the head (much to my amusement). “My whole family are blood traitors! That’s as bad as Muggle-borns to Death Eaters!”

“And they’d love to have me,” says Harry sarcastically. “We’d be best pals if they didn’t keep trying to do me in.”

This makes Ron laugh; even Hermione gives a grudging smile, and a distraction arrives in the shape of Ginny.

“Hey, Harry, I’m supposed to give you this.”

It is a scroll of parchment with Harry’s name written upon it in familiar thin, slanting writing.

“Thanks, Ginny . . . It’s Dumbledore’s next lesson!” Harry tells Ron, Hermione, and me pulling open the parchment and quickly reading its contents. “Monday evening!” He smiles. “Want to join us in Hogsmeade, Ginny?” he asks.

“I’m going with Dean — might see you there,” she replies, waving at us as she leaves.

A few seconds there’s a tap on my shoulder. I turn around in my seat to see a beautiful sight. I swear she looks even more amazing every time I see her. Her honey gold hair falls to her shoulders in waves, and her brown eyes are filled with warmth and an emotion that I only get to see when she looks at me. She’s dressed warm for the stormy October day, but she still manages to look flawless.

“Beautiful.” I say without thinking. Harry and Ron burst out laughing at my slip up and Hermione is smiling but shaking her head at me. A pink blush spreads on her cheeks.

“I swear you’re the sweetest thing. You don’t look half bad there yourself Pendragon.” Ariana grins. It’s my turn to flush. She offers her hand to me, and I use it to allow her to help me to my feet. She doesn’t release my hand when we’re standing. I glance at my friends nervously, to see them smiling at me encouragingly. Well Ron has his eyes narrowed at Ariana.

“Just ‘cause you’re a girl doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you if you hurt my sister.” Ron says seriously. I feel mortified and more than a little angry at Ron for doing this since he’s known Ariana for years, but my girlfriend only smiles at him happily.

“I’d expect nothing less. You’re a great brother Ron, when you don’t let your mouth get you into situations you can’t get out of.” Ariana says with a smile.

We start to the doors of the Hall. So far so good. No one has really stopped and pointed yet. I guess that Ariana and I have been so close for a while now that seeing us holding hands is really not that much of a stretch. Ariana gives my hand a reassuring squeeze when she notices my worried look.

“I’ve got you.” She murmurs. I can’t help but feel warm at that.

“I know.”

We barely make it into the entrance hall before we’re stopped and this time by someone that makes me blood run cold. Malfoy stands blocking our path with his trusted posy of Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson. The thing that unnerves me the most about all this is that Malfoy has a knowing look in his cold gray eyes. Ariana’s grip on my hand tightens.

“What do you want Malfoy?” She demands. A smile spreads on his face and I feel like an icy bucket of water has been dumped on me. He knows. I’m not sure how but he knows.

“Well I only came by to say hello to my favorite pair of lesbians.” He says, eyes lighting up maliciously. I try hard to fight the wince that comes.

Of course Malfoy said it loud enough to stop everyone around us in the entrance hall and even the beginning of the Great Hall.

“Lesbians? They’re together? That’s disgusting.” Pansy Parkinson says screwing up her pug like face in disgust. Now the whispers are starting, I can feel the stares of multiple people on us. Its like my first year at Hogwarts except there’s more interest now because this is quite a bit more scandalous than having a popular family.

“Hot.” Goyle snorts.

“Totally.” Crabbe agrees with him. I grimace at that, and inch a little closer to Ariana. For once I’m lost in how to handle Malfoy.

“So what?” Ariana says. I flick my gaze to her shocked. I know that she’s always been so strong and self aware, but now she’s expanding that confidence for me.

“It’s wrong. Two girls shouldn’t be together. It’s wrong.” Malfoy repeats looking slightly bewildered by my girlfriend’s reaction.

Ariana glances and me and I can see a glimpse of uncertainty in her eyes. I take a quick breath and nod my head. I trust her to handle this situation, I love Ariana Dumbledore and nothing that anyone else says is going to change my mind.

“What’s wrong is that I see a repressed sad little boy standing in front of me. I am in love. So what if I’m in love with a girl. Its something that you’ve never had and at this rate I suspect you’ll never have. Jamie makes me feel beautiful, confident, and happier then I have ever felt. If you can’t understand that—if any of you can’t understand that… then it’s your loss.” Ariana says looking around at everyone.

I stand there for a few moments in shock. This girl is utterly amazing. I don’t know what I would do without her. I tug on her hand and she turns to me concerned, but the brilliant smile on my face assures her. “You are amazing Ariana Dumbledore.” I breathe before pulling her closer and kissing her. My fears about others seeing is gone for the moment, all that matters is the spectacular and amazing girl who has my love.

I can hear the excited chatter all around us, as well as some disgusted scoffs, but I can even hear some clapping and one kid whistled. I pull away after a few seconds feeling awfully self-conscious about all the stares. Ariana looks stunned that I had actually been the one to initiate a kiss in a confrontation like this.

I look around and see the stunned stupid look on Malfoy’s face. Crabbe and Goyle look shocked and like they liked watching. Pansy still has an affronted and disgusted look on her face.

“Well I think that’s enough of a show today.” I say, gripping a little tighter to my girlfriend.

“I agree.” Ariana says and starts pushing forward through the crowd of shocked people.

“Dyke!” The insult is hurled before we could get too far away. I wheel around in fury at the girl. Pansy looks frightened of the murderous look that is sure to be on my face. I can tell that my hand has been engulfed in the blue fire that has been triggered by my anger.

“Don’t mistake my calmness as indifference Parkinson. The only reason that you’re still standing there in one piece is because my girlfriend is here. If I hear you call her any sort of name along those lines ever again, then I promise you it will be that last thing that you ever do in your pitiful life.” I hiss. All the color drains out of her face, and I finally succumb to the tugging that Ariana has been doing for the last minute.

Finally we get in the line for security check. Filch who is doing the scans, actually looks like he’s uncertain how to go about it now that he most definitely heard that we’re together. I grit my teeth. It’s not like I’ve changed or anything. I’m still the same girl that I was yesterday. I just like girls. That doesn’t change everything about me.

As soon as we pass through the pointless security check we’re released out into the bitter cold. The wind is whipping by us at speeds that leaves uncover skin raw and bitter. Ariana and I are forced to wrap our scarves tighter and higher on our necks and pull hats down further, as we make our way down the path to Hogsmeade hunkered down.

It takes a while and by the time that we make it to the town, I’m feeling frozen and raw, hoping that wherever we’re having our date will be heated with a warm toasty fire. Ariana pulls me in a familiar direction and suddenly we’re in the warm and cheery atmosphere of the Three Broomsticks.

I give my girlfriend and questioning look. “I thought that this would be the best. Susan and Hannah have been in Madam Puddifoot’s before. Let’s just say that I don’t think that it would be the right place for us, especially after the scene that we just made earlier.” Ariana explains leading me back farther into the pub and to one of the booths.

We slide into the booth and quickly start shedding our layers for the heat is beginning to swelter thanks to the large roaring fire. When I look up again I see Ariana staring at me with an adoring look on her face.

“What?” I ask blushing at her intensity.

“I can’t believe you sometimes Jamie. You were so terrified of everyone else finding out about us, but then you go and kiss me in front of all those people. I don’t know… you just amaze me Jamie Pendragon.” She says with a shake of her head.

I bite my lip in embarrassment. “I hope that’s a good kind of amazement.” I say softly.

“The best kind.” Ariana assures leaning in closer to me. I feel my breath catch in my chest. Before her lips can meet mine though we’re interrupted.

“Oh! I’m sorry… I’ll come back later.” We whip apart to see Madam Rosmerta standing there waiting for our order. I don’t know if my blush could possibly get any hotter.

“Sorry, we’ll have two butterbeers please.” Ariana orders for the both of us since I’m still mortified. She gives the two of us big smiles before patting Ariana’s hand.

“No worries girls, I’ll have those back in a minute.” She says before sashaying away to another table.

“Well that was horrifying.” I whisper. Ariana chuckles and pulls me closer to her side, and I bury my burning face into her shoulder.

“You willingly kiss me in front of hundreds of kids to spite Malfoy but being caught kissing me by Madam Rosmerta embarrasses you? I swear you’re one of the funniest people I know.” Ariana says kissing my forehead.

“Yeah, but you still love me.” I say with a pout. The smile on her face is enough to say everything.

“It’s trying but someone has to do it.” She smirks. I narrow my eyes at her and shove her away from me.

“Jerk.” I grumble. Our drinks come back and now our insides are able to feel as good as our outsides are finally feeling. Sure we can feel people’s eyes on us, and I’m sure that we’re the topic of discussion for more than a few people, but I honestly have a hard time finding the ability to care. When I’m with Ariana the rest of the world always seems to melt away until it’s just the two of us left.

Some days I still can’t believe that she chose to be with someone like me, but I’m thankful to Merlin everyday that she chose me. We spent a while there talking and cuddling as close as we could in the booth but soon our butterbeer was finished and the stares and whispers of people were beginning to grow to noticeable for us to ignore.

“C’mon lets go back to the castle.” I say nudging my girlfriend. She sighs but nods her head in agreement.

“I’m sorry Jamie, I wanted to make this special. It’s our first date after all.” Ariana says looking crestfallen. I pull her back down beside me in the booth and pull her face back to mine.

“This has been one of the best trips to Hogsmeade I’ve ever had. I had a wonderful time Ariana. I don’t need the perfect date, you were with me and that’s all that matters.” I tell her holding her eyes, before capturing her lips with mine. This kiss is a little more forceful than the last, but it expresses all the feelings that I need.

After a few seconds I pull back, and see the shining eyes of my girlfriend. “I love you Jamie.” She whispers.

“I love you too Ariana.”

With that we make our leave of the Three Broomsticks. To our surprise we run into Harry, Ron, and Hermione outside. Harry looks very cross while Ron and Hermione look a little frazzled.

“Hey guys.” I say happily, my hand still firmly nestled in Ariana’s.

“Well if it isn’t the women of the hour.” Hermione says cheerfully her cheeks stained red from the cold. If it wasn’t so cold I would have blushed.

“Saw what you did back up at the castle. That look on Malfoy’s face— priceless.” Ron snorts then shivers.

“While I’d love to congratulate you lets get back before we freeze.” Harry grumbles pushing ahead up the path. We follow along in a big group to conserve heat. Up ahead of us walk Katie Bell and her friend. We have to bow our heads to fight off the swirling sleet, so there’s no talking between us.

It was a little while before I become aware that the voices of Katie Bell and her friend, which are being carried back to us on the wind, have become shriller and louder. I squint at their indistinct figures. The two girls are having an argument about something Katie is holding in her hand. “It’s nothing to do with you, Leanne!” I hear Katie say.

We round a corner in the lane, sleet coming thick and fast, blinding us. Just as I’m able to blink it away, Leanne makes to grab hold of the package Katie is holding; Katie tugs it back and the package falls to the ground.

At once, Katie rises into the air, her arms outstretched, as though she is about to fly. Yet there is something wrong, something eerie. . . . Her hair is whiping around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes are closed and her face is quite empty of expression. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Leanne, Ariana, and I have all halted in our tracks, watching.

Then, six feet above the ground, Katie lets out a terrible scream. Her eyes fly open but whatever she can see, or whatever she is feeling, is clearly causing her terrible anguish. She screams and screams; Leanne starts to scream too and seizes Katie’s ankles, trying to tug her back to the ground. The rest of us rush forward to help, but even as we grabbed Katie’s legs, she falls on top of us; Harry, Ron, and I manage to catch her but she is writhing so much we can hardly hold her. Instead we lower her to the ground where she thrashes and screams, apparently unable to recognize any of us.

Its one of the single most frightening things I’ve seen and I’ve seen a lot in my life. Harry looks around; the landscape seems deserted.

“Stay there!” he shouts at the us over the howling wind. “I’m going for help!”

I watch as Harry sprints around the bend. I try my hardest to hold my teammate down by the shoulders. Seeing her in pain is terrible. I focus my attention on trying to calm her and being as gentle as I can, while making sure that she doesn’t hit me in the face.

Not a minute later does Harry come running back with Hagrid on his heels. Thank Merlin its exhausting trying to keep her from thrashing. She’s strong, I should know as much since we’ve been working out and playing together for six years.

“Get back!” shouts Hagrid. “Lemme see her!”

“Something’s happened to her!” sobs Leanne. “I don’t know what —”

Hagrid stares at Katie for a second, then without a word, bends down, scoops her into his arms, and runs off towards the castle with her. Within seconds, Katie’s piercing screams have died away and the only sound is the roar of the wind.

Hermione hurries over to Katie’s wailing friend and puts an arm around her. Ariana goes to her other side and grasps her hand.

“It’s Leanne, isn’t it?” Ariana says.

The girl nods.

“Did it just happen all of a sudden, or — ?” Hermione asks.

“It was when that package tore,” sobs Leanne, pointing at the now sodden brown-paper package on the ground, which has split open to reveal a greenish glitter. Ron bends down, his hand outstretched, but I seize his arm and pull him back.

“Don’t touch it!” I hiss.

Harry and I crouch down. An ornate opal necklace is visible, poking out of the paper. That doesn’t look good, lots of objects like that are cursed.

“I’ve seen that before,” says Harry, staring at the thing. “It was on display in Borgin and Burkes ages ago. The label said it was cursed. Katie must have touched it.” He looks up at Leanne, who has started to shake uncontrollably. “How did Katie get hold of this?”

“Well, that’s why we were arguing. She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks holding it, said it was a surprise for somebody at Hogwarts and she had to deliver it. She looked all funny when she said it. . . . Oh no, oh no, I bet she’d been Imperiused and I didn’t realize!”

Leanne shakes with renewed sobs. Hermione pats her shoulder gently, and Ariana squeezes her hand.

“She didn’t say who’d given it to her, Leanne?” Harry questions.

“No . . . she wouldn’t tell me . . . and I said she was being stupid and not to take it up to school, but she just wouldn’t listen and . . . and then I tried to grab it from her . . . and — and —”

Leanne lets out a wail of despair.

“We’d better get up to school,” says Hermione, her arm still around Leanne. “We’ll be able to find out how she is. Come on. . . .”

Harry goes to pull his scarf off, but I stop him by pulling mine off. “Let me, Kingsley handled stuff like this before.” I say as explanation. I bend down at pick up the necklace in my scarf, and wrap it up carefully.

“We’ll need to show this to Madam Pomfrey,” Harry says looking at the bundle in my hand. Ron gives me a worried look, and I give him a faint smile in return.

“You get cursed and Mum will kill you.” He says. I grimace at that.

As we follow Hermione, Leanne, and Ariana up the road, Harry seems to be thinking furiously. We have just entered the grounds when he speaks, unable to keep his thoughts to himself any longer.

“Malfoy knows about this necklace. It was in a case at Borgin and Burkes four years ago, I saw him having a good look at it while I was hiding from him and his dad. This is what he was buying that day when we followed him! He remembered it and he went back for it!”

“I — I dunno, Harry,” says Ron hesitantly. “Loads of people go to Borgin and Burkes . . . and didn’t that girl say Katie got it in the girls’ bathroom?”

“She said she came back from the bathroom with it, she didn’t necessarily get it in the bathroom itself —”

“Not important right now.” I say focusing all my attention on not dropping or touching this necklace. I really should think things through more often.

“McGonagall!” says Ron warningly.

Harry and I look up. Sure enough, Professor McGonagall is hurrying down the stone steps through swirling sleet to meet us.

“Hagrid says you six saw what happened to Katie Bell — upstairs to my office at once, please! What’s that you’re holding, Pendragon?”

“It’s the thing she touched,” I say haltingly.

“Good lord,” says Professor McGonagall, looking alarmed as she takes the necklace from me. “No, no, Filch, they’re with me!” she adds hastily, as Filch comes shuffling eagerly across the entrance hall holding his Secrecy Sensor aloft. “Take this necklace to Professor Snape at once, but be sure not to touch it, keep it wrapped in the scarf!”

Our group follows Professor McGonagall upstairs and into her office. The sleet-spattered windows are rattling in their frames, and the room is chilly despite the fire crackling in the grate. Professor McGonagall closes the door and sweeps around her desk to face Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ariana, the still sobbing Leanne, and me.

“Well?” she says sharply. “What happened?”

Haltingly, and with many pauses while she attempts to control her crying, Leanne tells Professor McGonagall how Katie had gone to the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks and returned holding the unmarked package, how Katie seemed a little odd, and how they argued about the advisability of agreeing to deliver unknown objects, the argument culminating in the tussle over the parcel, which tore open. At this point, Leanne is so overcome, there is no getting another word out of her.

“All right,” says Professor McGonagall, not unkindly, “go up to the hospital wing, please, Leanne, and get Madam Pomfrey to give you something for shock.”

When she leaves the room, Professor McGonagall turns back to Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ariana, and me.

“What happened when Katie touched the necklace?”

“She rose up in the air,” says Harry, before the rest of us can speak, “and then began to scream, and collapsed. Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore, please?”

“The headmaster is away until Monday, Potter,” says Professor McGonagall, looking surprised.

“Away?” Harry repeats angrily. Oh boy, here we go again.

“Yes, Potter, away!” says Professor McGonagall tartly. “But anything you have to say about this horrible business can be said to me, I’m sure!”

Harry hesitates, and I know that he’s weighing his options. Ariana comes back to my side and grabs my hand, giving it a tight squeeze. I can tell from the look in her eye that she’s cross at me for picking up the cursed necklace, but I honestly have no fight left in me today.

“I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor.” Harry says.

On one side of him, Ron rubs his nose in apparent embarrassment; on the other, Hermione shuffles her feet as though quite keen to put a bit of distance between herself and Harry. I can’t believe we’re going through this again without any proof. I agree that the weasel has it in him to do something like this, but I rather be sure first.

“That is a very serious accusation, Potter,” says Professor McGonagall, after a shocked pause. “Do you have any proof?”

“No,” says Harry, “but . . .” and he told her about following Malfoy to Borgin and Burkes and the conversation we overheard between him and Mr. Borgin.

When he has finished speaking, Professor McGonagall looks slightly confused.

“Malfoy took something to Borgin and Burkes for repair?”

“No, Professor, he just wanted Borgin to tell him how to mend something, he didn’t have it with him. But that’s not the point, the thing is that he bought something at the same time, and I think it was that necklace —”

“You saw Malfoy leaving the shop with a similar package?”

“No, Professor, he told Borgin to keep it in the shop for him —”

“But Harry,” Hermione interrupts, “Borgin asked him if he wanted to take it with him, and Malfoy said no —”

“Because he didn’t want to touch it, obviously!” says Harry angrily.

“What he actually said was, ‘How would I look carrying that down the street?’” says Hermione.

I’m beginning to get a headache from going over all of this again.

“Well, he would look a bit of a prat carrying a necklace,” interjects Ron.

“Oh, Ron,” says Hermione despairingly, “it would be all wrapped up, so he wouldn’t have to touch it, and quite easy to hide inside a cloak, so nobody would see it! I think whatever he reserved at Borgin and Burkes was noisy or bulky, something he knew would draw attention to him if he carried it down the street — and in any case,” she presses on loudly, before Harry can interrupt, “I asked Borgin about the necklace, don’t you remember? When I went in to try and find out what Malfoy had asked him to keep, I saw it there. And Borgin just told me the price, he didn’t say it was already sold or anything —”

“Well, you were being really obvious, he realized what you were up to within about five seconds, of course he wasn’t going to tell you — anyway, Malfoy could’ve sent off for it since —”

“That’s enough!” says Professor McGonagall, as Hermione opens her mouth to retort, looking furious. “Potter, I appreciate you telling me this, but we cannot point the finger of blame at Mr. Malfoy purely because he visited the shop where this necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true of hundreds of people —”

“— that’s what I said —” mutters Ron.

“— and in any case, we have put stringent security measures in place this year. I do not believe that necklace can possibly have entered this school without our knowledge —”

“But —”

“— and what is more,” says Professor McGonagall, with an air of awful finality, “Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today.”

Harry gapes at her, deflating.

“How do you know, Professor?”

“Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter,” she says as she marched past us, “but I need to go up to the hospital wing now to check on Katie Bell. Good day to you all.”

She holds open her office door. We have no choice but to file past her without another word. I glance at my friends feeling that I’m going to need to do some damage control. I turn to Ariana and I can see the understanding in her eyes.

“Go on Jamie. They look like they need you. Just don’t go doing anything stupidly dangerous again. I like having you around Pendragon.” She says kissing me quickly, and giving my hand one last squeeze.

“Okay. Love you Ari.” I say, and she smiles at me before turning away and disappearing after McGonagall. I sigh and rub my forehead as I turn to look at my friends.

“So who do you reckon Katie was supposed to give the necklace to?” asks Ron, as we climb the stairs to the common room.

“Goodness only knows,” says Hermione. “But whoever it was has had a narrow escape. No one could have opened that package without touching the necklace.”

“It could’ve been meant for loads of people,” says Harry. “Dumbledore — the Death Eaters would love to get rid of him, he must be one of their top targets. Or Slughorn — Dumbledore reckons Voldemort really wanted him and they can’t be pleased that he’s sided with Dumbledore. Or —”

“Or you,” says Hermione, looking troubled.

“Couldn’t have been,” says Harry, “or Katie would’ve just turned around in the lane and given it to me, wouldn’t she? I was behind her all the way out of the Three Broomsticks. It would have made much more sense to deliver the parcel outside Hogwarts, what with Filch searching everyone who goes in and out. I wonder why Malfoy told her to take it into the castle?”

“This whole thing wasn’t that well thought out.” I say shaking my head.

“Harry, Malfoy wasn’t in Hogsmeade!” says Hermione, actually stamping her foot in frustration.

“He must have used an accomplice, then,” says Harry. “Crabbe or Goyle — or, come to think of it, another Death Eater, he’ll have loads better cronies than Crabbe and Goyle now he’s joined up —”

Ron, Hermione, and I exchange looks that plainly say ‘There’s no point arguing with him’.

“Dilligrout,” says Hermione firmly as we reach the Fat Lady.

The portrait swings open to admit us to the common room. It is quite full and smells of damp clothing; many people seem to have returned from Hogsmeade early because of the bad weather. There is no buzz of fear or speculation, however: Clearly, the news of Katie’s fate has not yet spread.

“It wasn’t a very slick attack, really, when you stop and think about it,” says Ron, casually turfing a first year out of one of the good armchairs by the fire so that he can sit down. “The curse didn’t even make it into the castle. Not what you’d call foolproof.”

“As I said.” I point out.

“You’re right,” says Hermione, prodding Ron out of the chair with her foot and offering it to the first year again. “It wasn’t very well thought-out at all.”

“You people don’t listen when I talk do you?” I huff.

“But since when has Malfoy been one of the world’s great thinkers?” asks Harry ignoring me yet again.

Neither Ron nor Hermione answer him. “I must be invisible.” I sigh. Ron pokes me in the ribs and I scowl at him.

“Nope, not yet at least.” He smirks. I sigh and rub my forehead again. I have a feeling that things are going to start getting worse around here.

 


	10. Felix Felicis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 10- Felix Felicis

 

Katie was removed to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries the following day, by which time the news that she had been cursed had spread all over the school, though the details were confused and nobody other than Harry, Ron, Hermione, Leanne, Ariana, and I seemed to know that Katie herself had not been the intended target.

“Oh, and Malfoy knows, of course,” says Harry to Ron, Hermione, and me, who continue our new policy of feigning deafness whenever Harry mentions his Malfoy-Is-a-Death-Eater theory. Harry actually managed to have his lesson with Dumbledore Saturday night, and that brightened his mood a fair amount.

I on the other hand have been dealing with the backlash that comes with being outed to the entire school about my relationship with a certain young Dumbledore. If it’s not the whispers behind hands, snickering and subtle glances, then it’s the outright mean and hurtful comments that are spoken to my face or behind my back.

I guess that’s what I get for being a fairly popular person and being in love with a girl will get me. As much as my stomach may churn when I walk the halls, just seeing the sight of my happy girlfriend makes it all better. I still have no idea how Ariana walks around like there’s nothing going on, but she seems almost oblivious to whispers and stares.

Harry doesn’t have time to fill us in about his lesson and what he learned with Dumbledore last night at breakfast. He says that there’s too many ears listening for that. “Are you sure that its not too many eyes watching?” I grumble into my plate glaring at a first year that is looking at me like I’m a mythological creature.

So Harry fills us in on our walk across the vegetable patch towards the greenhouse since we have Herbology today. The weekend’s brutal wind has died out at last; the weird mist has returned and it takes us a little longer than usual to find the correct greenhouse.

“Wow, scary thought, the boy You-Know-Who,” says Ron quietly, as we take our places around one of the gnarled Snargaluff stumps that forms this term’s project, and begin pulling on our protective gloves. “But I still don’t get why Dumbledore’s showing you all this. I mean, it’s really interesting and everything, but what’s the point?”

“Dunno,” says Harry, inserting a gum shield. “But he says it’s all important and it’ll help me survive.

“I guess too much knowledge about Voldemort is never a bad thing.” I say lowly. Ron winces at the name and I roll my eyes at him. My brother seriously has to get over that. Ariana slides in beside me at the last second possible before class starts. I can tell that my friends are mildly hesitant to talk about Harry’s lesson with Dumbledore around her.

“Please, do go on. I’ve lived with my grandfather my entire life, I’m sure what you have to say won’t be in the least bit surprising, and I would never do anything to betray Jamie and by extension you. I am on your side after all Harry.” Ariana says pulling out her own protective gear.

My friends blush but smile all the same. It is a little harder for us to change our ways by now. It’s just always been the four of us on these trips in the first place. It’s kind of nice to have more people to rely on.

“I think it’s fascinating,” says Hermione earnestly continuing on. “It makes absolute sense to know as much about Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?”

“So how was Slughorn’s latest party?” Harry asks her thickly through the gum shield.

“Oh, it was quite fun, really,” says Hermione, now putting on protective goggles, I groan at her enthusiasm. “I mean, he drones on about famous ex-pupils a bit, and he absolutely fawns on McLaggen because he’s so well-connected, but he gave us some really nice food and he introduced us to Gwenog Jones.”

“Gwenog Jones?” says Ron, his eyes widening under his own goggles. “The Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies? Tell me you got me an autograph Jamie!”

“Not in the slightest.” I reply, much to his despairing moan.

“We were a little distracted.” Ariana admits, and I blush. Yes we were trying to find covert ways to have a food war with Ginny and have no one notice.

“That’s right,” says Hermione. “Personally, I thought she was a bit full of herself, but —”

“Quite enough chat over here!” says Professor Sprout briskly, bustling over and looking stern. “You’re lagging behind, everybody else has started, and Neville’s already got his first pod!”

We look around; sure enough, there sits Neville with a bloody lip and several nasty scratches along the side of his face, but clutching an unpleasantly pulsating green object about the size of a grapefruit.

“Okay, Professor, we’re starting now!” says Ron, adding quietly, when she has turned away again, “should’ve used Muffliato, Harry.”

“That another spell from your book?” Ariana asks curiously. Harry looks very hesitant.

“Yes.” He says slowly.

“No, we shouldn’t!” says Hermione at once, looking, as she always does, intensely cross at the thought of the Half-Blood Prince and his spells. “Well, come on . . . we’d better get going. . . .”

She gives the four of us an apprehensive look; we all take deep breaths and then dive at the gnarled stump between us.

It springs to life at once; long, prickly, bramblelike vines fly out of the top and whip through the air. One tangles itself in Hermione’s hair, and Ron beats it back with a pair of secateurs; Harry succeeds in trapping a couple of vines and knotting them together; Ariana and I grab the rest of the squirmy vines and hold on, a hole opens in the middle of all the tentaclelike branches; Hermione plunges her arm bravely into this hole, which closes like a trap around her elbow; Harry, Ron, Ariana, and I tug and wrench at the vines, forcing the hole to open again, and Hermione snatches her arm free, clutching in her fingers a pod just like Neville’s. At once, the prickly vines shoot back inside, and the gnarled stump sits there looking like an innocently dead lump of wood.

“If only one of us could do that when Malfoy or Parkinson is near.” I mutter. Ariana giggles beside me mopping at her cheek but smearing dirt there instead.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll be having any of these in my garden when I’ve got my own place,” says Ron, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead and wiping sweat from his face.

“Pass me a bowl,” says Hermione, holding the pulsating pod at arm’s length; Harry hands one over and she drops the pod into it with a look of disgust on her face.

“Don’t be squeamish, squeeze it out, they’re best when they’re fresh!” calls Professor Sprout.

“Anyway,” says Hermione, continuing our interrupted conversation as though a lump of wood did not just attack us, “Slughorn’s going to have a Christmas party, Harry, and there’s no way you’ll be able to wriggle out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come.”

“Yes then he had me double check it so that there weren’t any Quidditch conflicts. I swear that’s one of the only words he’s spoken to me since the beginning.” I say with a grimace.

“That’s because you make sure that he knows that you don’t like him all that much.” Ariana points out. She does have a point there.

Harry groans in dismay at this information. Meanwhile, Ron, who is attempting to burst the pod in the bowl by putting both hands on it, standing up, and squashing it as hard as he can, says angrily, “And this is another party just for Slughorn’s favorites, is it?”

“Just for the Slug Club, yes,” says Hermione. Ugh, I really hate that name.

The pod flies out from under Ron’s fingers and hits the greenhouse glass, rebounding onto the back of Professor Sprout’s head and knocking off her old, patched hat. Harry goes to retrieve the pod (smart lad) while Ron glowers at Hermione; when he gets back, Hermione is saying, “Look, I didn’t make up the name ‘Slug Club’ —”

“‘Slug Club,’” repeats Ron with a sneer worthy of Malfoy. “It’s pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don’t you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug —”

“We’re allowed to bring guests,” says Hermione, who for some reason has turned a bright, boiling scarlet, “and I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it’s that stupid then I won’t bother!”

Oh no. Here we go. The end is finally nigh. I look desperately at Ariana to help me out of this situation, but she looks rather fascinated by the display.

Harry seizes the bowl that contains the pod and begins to try and open it by the noisiest and most energetic means he can think of; unfortunately, we can still hear every word of their conversation.

“You were going to ask me?” asks Ron, in a completely different voice.

“Yes,” says Hermione angrily. “But obviously if you’d rather I hooked up with McLaggen . . .”

There was a pause while Harry continues to pound the resilient pod with a trowel, and Ariana and I look on in fascinated horror. Boy am I glad that I already have a girlfriend, hormones are hard enough to navigate as it is.

“No, I wouldn’t,” says Ron, in a very quiet voice.

Harry misses the pod, hits the bowl, and shatters it.

“Reparo,” he says hastily, poking the pieces with his wand, and the bowl springs back together again. The crash, however, appears to have woken Ron and Hermione to Harry’s and our presence. Hermione looks flustered and immediately starts fussing about for her copy of Flesh-Eating Trees of the World to find out the correct way to juice Snargaluff pods; Ron, on the other hand, looks sheepish but also rather pleased with himself.

“Hand that over, Harry,” says Hermione hurriedly. “It says we’re supposed to puncture them with something sharp. . . .”

Harry passes her the pod in the bowl; he and Ron both snap their goggles back over their eyes and the four of us dive, once more, for the stump.

I could tell that Harry was worried about Ron and Hermione. I have a feeling that he knows what’s going on between the two of them just like I do. I’m not entirely sure how it will go if they get together though. If I were to break up with Ariana or she we me (a pang hits my heart), then everything would pretty much stay the same since we’re not in the same friend group.

Hermione and Ron however are two integral members in my friend group, and if they got together and broke up it could tear us all apart. I remember what third year was like, and I don’t care to revisit that anytime soon. Then there’s always the chance that they will become like Bill and Fleur and be disgustingly insuperable. That would ruin our friendship as well. I’m not going to be the one to deny them happiness though, if it’s with each other. Ariana would kill me if I did.

“Gotcha!” yells Ron, pulling a second pod from the stump just as Hermione managed to burst the first one open, so that the bowl is full of tubers wriggling like pale green worms.

The rest of the lesson passes without further mention of Slughorn’s party. Although I watch my two friends more closely over the next few days, Ron and Hermione do not seem any different except that they are a little politer to each other than usual. Unfortunately there are more pressing worries that are on Harry’s mind.

There is the dilemma of Quidditch. Katie Bell is still in St. Mungo’s Hospital with no prospect of leaving so that leaves the team a member short missing a chaser. Harry complained to me multiple times about not having an open house tryout ever again, and I can’t say that I blame him all that much, but unfortunately we need another chaser.

As amazing of a team Ginny and I make, we can’t suddenly become a third player. Not to mention that our opening match against Slytherin is looming over the horizon. Harry definitely wasn’t happy about what he was going to have to do. I know the reason why, it happens to do with a certain long redheaded sister of mine. I’m not totally oblivious to the puppy looks he gives her!

So that’s why I’m stuck helping Harry make the right decision for the team after Transfiguration one day. Harry and I corner Dean Thomas after most of the students have filed out, although several twittering yellow birds are still zooming around the room, all of Hermione’s creation; nobody else succeeded in conjuring so much as a feather from thin air.

“Are you still interested in playing Chaser?” Harry asks, sounding a little less than enthused.

“Wha — ? Yeah, of course!” says Dean excitedly. Over Dean’s shoulder, Harry and I see Seamus Finnigan slamming his books into his bag, looking sour. One of the reasons why Harry would have preferred not to have to ask Dean to play was that he knew Seamus would not like it. On the other hand, he has to do what is best for the team, and Dean had outflew Seamus at the tryouts.

“Well then, you’re in,” I say, taking pity on Harry. “There’s a practice tonight, seven o’clock.”

“Right,” says Dean. “Cheers, Harry, Jamie! Blimey, I can’t wait to tell Ginny!”

He sprints out of the room, leaving Harry, Seamus, and I alone together, an uncomfortable moment made no easier when a bird dropping lands on Seamus’s head as one of Hermione’s canaries whizzes over us.

Seamus is not the only person disgruntled by the choice of Katie’s substitute. There is much muttering in the common room about the fact that Harry has now chosen three of his classmates for the team. As Harry has endured much worse mutterings than this in his school career, he is not particularly bothered, but all the same, the pressure was increasing to provide a win in the upcoming match against Slytherin. I can tell because he’s been bothering me with his worries since, he’s still a little put off by Ron and Hermione.

Harry has no reason to regret his choice once he sees Dean fly that evening; he works well with Ginny and me. The Beaters, Peakes and Coote, are getting better all the time. The only problem is Ron.

Harry and I had known all along that Ron is an inconsistent player who suffers from nerves and a lack of confidence, and unfortunately, the looming prospect of the opening game of the season seems to have brought out all his old insecurities. After letting in half a dozen goals, most of them scored by Ginny and me, his technique becomes wilder and wilder, until he finally punches an me in the mouth when I ready for a shot.

“It was an accident, I’m sorry, Jamie, really sorry!” Ron shouts after me as I zigzag back to the ground, dripping blood everywhere. “I just —”

“Panicked,” Ginny says angrily, landing next to me and examining my fat lip. “You prat, Ron, look at the state of her!”

“He punches surprisingly hard.” I lisp, and Ginny grimaces at my face.

“Mum’s going to kill you!” Ginny growls at Ron again, and my already pale brother turns a few shades lighter.

“I can fix that,” says Harry, landing beside the two of us, pointing his wand at my mouth, and saying “Episkey.” “And Ginny, don’t call Ron a prat, you’re not the Captain of this team —”

“Well, you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should —”

I can tell that Harry’s forcing himself not to laugh as I work my jaw around trying to get out the kinks.

“In the air, everyone, let’s go. . . .”

Overall it is one of the worst practices we have had all term, though Harry seems to not feel that honesty is the best policy when we are this close to the match.

“Good work, everyone, I think we’ll flatten Slytherin,” he says bracingly, and the Chasers and Beaters leave the changing room looking reasonably happy with themselves, I stay behind though to help encourage Ron.

“I played like a sack of dragon dung,” says Ron in a hollow voice when the door had swings shut behind Ginny.

“You don’t hit like a sack of dragon dung.” I say licking over my once split lip. Ron grimaces again.

“No, you didn’t,” says Harry firmly. “You’re the best Keeper I tried out, Ron. Your only problem is nerves.”

Harry and I keep up a relentless flow of encouragement all the way back to the castle, and by the time we reach the second floor, Ron is looking marginally more cheerful. When Harry pushes open the tapestry to take our usual shortcut up to Gryffindor Tower, however, we find ourselves looking at Dean and Ginny, who are locked in a close embrace and kissing fiercely as though glued together.

Okay not something that I needed to see exactly. This must be what it feels like when my siblings see me kiss Ariana. I’m going to have to remember that, and try to stay clear of them when I want to have a moment. Though we never do something like this in public…

Harry on the other hand looks like a cross between pained and furious. If I didn’t know that my best friend liked Ginny before, then I certainly knew it now. Ron of course is the first one to react, and like normal when he sees one of his sisters in a more intimate moment he overreacts.

“Oi!”

Dean and Ginny break apart and look around.

“What?” says Ginny.

“I don’t want to find my own sister snogging people in public!”

“This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!” says Ginny.

Dean is looking embarrassed. He gives Harry a shifty grin that Harry does not return.

“Er . . . c’mon, Ginny,” says Dean, “let’s go back to the common room. . . .”

“You go!” says Ginny. “I want a word with my dear brother!”

Dean leaves, looking as though he is not sorry to depart the scene.

“Right,” says Ginny, tossing her long red hair out of her face and glaring at Ron, “let’s get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go out with or what I do with them, Ron —”

“Yeah, it is!” says Ron, just as angrily. “D’you think I want people saying my sister’s a —”

“A what?” shouts Ginny, drawing her wand. “A what, exactly?”

“He doesn’t mean anything, Ginny —” says Harry automatically, though he doesn’t look like he’s disagreeing.

“Oh yes he does!” she says, flaring up at Harry. “Just because he’s never snogged anyone in his life, just because the best kiss he’s ever had is from our Auntie Muriel —”

“Shut your mouth!” bellows Ron, bypassing red and turning maroon.

“Guys let’s just—” I try.

“Shut up Jamie, and no, I will not!” yells Ginny, beside herself. “I’ve seen you with Phlegm, hoping she’ll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her, it’s pathetic! If you went out and got a bit of snogging done yourself, you wouldn’t mind so much that everyone else does it! Even Jamie has a girlfriend!”

Ron has pulled out his wand too; Harry and I step swiftly between them.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ron roars, trying to get a clear shot at Ginny around Harry and me, as we’re both now standing in front of her Harry with his arms outstretched, and me with my arms around her. “Just because I don’t do it in public — !”

Ginny screams with derisive laughter, trying to push Harry and me out of the way. I wince at the sound in my ears.

“Been kissing Pigwidgeon, have you? Or have you got a picture of Auntie Muriel stashed under your pillow?”

“You —”

A streak of orange light flies under Harry’s left arm, misses Ginny and me by inches, and Harry pushes Ron up against the wall.

“Don’t be stupid —”

“Harry’s snogged Cho Chang!” shouts Ginny, who sounds close to tears now. “And Hermione snogged Viktor Krum, Jamie snogs Ariana all the time, it’s only you who acts like it’s something disgusting, Ron, and that’s because you’ve got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!”

And with that, she turns away. “Ginny!” I call trying to follow.

“Just stay away Jamie. I want to be alone!” With that my sister storms away.  

This just leaves me with the sibling I’m mad with and Harry. Harry quickly lets go of Ron; the look on his face is murderous. The three of us stand there, breathing heavily, until Mrs. Norris, Filch’s cat, appears around the corner, which breaks the tension.

“C’mon,” says Harry, as the sound of Filch’s shuffling feet reach our ears.

“Arse.” I hiss as Ron passes in front of me. I swear I don’t know what I’m going to do with my family. If they’re not speaking to me, then they’re trying to kill each other. I just can’t win.

We hurry up the stairs and along a seventh-floor corridor. “Oi, out of the way!” Ron barks at a small girl who jumps in fright and drops a bottle of toadspawn.

I follow my friends in silence as the both stew. Whoever said that girls were the more complicated of sexes has never had two male best friends. Harry looks lost in his own world of most likely Ginny related drama, while Ron is still stewing angrily.

“D’you think Hermione did snog Krum?” Ron asks abruptly, as we approach the Fat Lady.

“What?” Harry says confusedly jerking out of his head. “Oh . . . er . . .”

The honest answer is “yes,” but I, and it looks like Harry do not want to give it.  However, Ron seems to gather the worst from the look on Harry’s and my face.

“Dilligrout,” he says darkly to the Fat Lady, and we climb through the portrait hole into the common room.

The evening is awkward and silent, so eventually I head up to bed. I stop to check in on Ginny before doing so though, so I spend quite some time lying on her bed with my sister curled up to me, letting her vent her frustrations about our brother and the stupid, moronic, double standards of society. I manage to slip in a casual inquiry about the state of Luka, but Ginny’s upset silence is enough to know that our other brother is still being a prat.

The next day comes like the dawning of a new plague. Ron is not only cold-shouldering Ginny and Dean, but also treating a hurt and bewildered Hermione with an icy, sneering indifference. What is more, Ron seems to have become, overnight, as touchy and ready to lash out as the average Blast-Ended Skrewt. Harry and I spend the day attempting to keep the peace between Ron and Hermione with no success; finally, Hermione departs for bed in high dudgeon, and Ron stalks off to the boys’ dormitory after swearing angrily at several frightened first years for looking at him.

I’m so stressed out by the situation that not even an hour or two of hanging out with Ariana can relax me.

To Harry’s and my dismay, Ron’s new aggression does not wear off over the next few days. Worse still, it coincides with an even deeper dip in his Keeping skills, which makes him still more aggressive, so that during the final Quidditch practice before Saturday’s match, he fails to save every single goal the Chasers aim at him, but bellows at everybody so much that he reduces me to tears. I’m not usually a crier but these past days have been too much.

“You shut up and leave her alone!” shouts Peakes, who is about two-thirds Ron’s height, though admittedly carrying a heavy bat.

“ENOUGH!” bellows Harry, who sees Ginny glowering in Ron’s direction and, remembering her reputation as an accomplished caster of the Bat-Bogey Hex, soars over to intervene before things get out of hand. “Peakes, go and pack up the Bludgers. Jamie, pull yourself together, you played really well today. Ron . . .”

I fly off before I hear the rest of Harry’s speech. When my feet touch the ground I have to take a few deep breaths to stop my hands from shaking. I can still feel tears running down my face, but I barely have the energy to wipe them away. I feel arms wrap around me, and I know instantly that they belong to Ginny.

“Come on, lets get you back to the castle.” She says softly leading me over to the changing rooms.

“But Dean…” I say glancing around for the boy.

“He understands, unlike some boys. A few minutes without me won’t kill him, besides I think you need me more right now.” She says. The pair of us get changed and make our way slowly up to the castle, and once we’re inside I’m shocked for a moment because we’re not going to the way to the common room.

“Where are we going?” I murmur looking at my sister confusedly. Ginny just smiles at me patiently and leads me along the corridor near the kitchen. It only dawns on me why we’re here a moment before the familiar blond head pops into view.

“What happened?” Ariana asks immediately. Ginny passes me over to my girlfriend, who has her arms around me in seconds. I don’t bother listening to the hurried explanation of what happened. I just bury my face into Ariana’s neck and let her familiar comforting vanilla scent wash over me.

I feel a squeeze on my shoulder and I know that my sister has left us. Ariana sighs, and maneuvers us down the corridor until we’re sitting on a bench.

“You’ve been having a rough few days huh Jamie?” She says softly. I merely nod my head, too tired to even come up with a response for her. There’s a rush of air against my ear, and then lips against my temple. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No… not yet.” I whisper. Ariana nods her head and just tightens her grip on me, and I curl in on myself further.

“Okay then. We’ll just sit here for a while.” She confirms. We sit in silence for another few moments, before I relax a little more.

“Thank you.” 

* * *

 

Breakfast is the usual excitable affair next morning; the Slytherins hiss and boo loudly as every member of the Gryffindor team enters the Great Hall. I glance at the ceiling and see a clear, pale blue sky: a good omen. At least something will go right today.

The Gryffindor table, a solid mass of red and gold, cheer as Harry, Ron, and I approach. Harry grins and waved; Ron grimaces weakly and shakes his head. I just grin bashfully, positive attention is not something that I’ve been used to after the last few days.

“Cheer up, Ron!” calls Lavender. “I know you’ll be brilliant!”

Ron ignores her.

“Tea?” Harry asks him. “Coffee? Pumpkin juice?”

“Anything,” says Ron glumly, taking a moody bite of toast.

A few minutes later Hermione, who has become so tired of Ron’s recent unpleasant behavior that she has not come down to breakfast with us, pauses on her way up the table.

“How are you three feeling?” she asks tentatively, her eyes on the back of Ron’s head.

“Good as any game day.” I say giving her a weary smile.

“Fine,” says Harry, who is concentrating on handing Ron a glass of pumpkin juice. “There you go, Ron. Drink up.”

Ron has just raised the glass to his lips when Hermione speaks sharply.

“Don’t drink that, Ron!”

Harry, Ron, and I look up at her.

“Why not?” says Ron.

Hermione is now staring at Harry as though she cannot believe her eyes. I glance at Harry as well, trying to get my stressed, and slightly tired mind to see what Hermione saw.

“You just put something in that drink.”

“Excuse me?” says Harry.

“You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron’s drink. You’ve got the bottle in your hand right now!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Harry, stowing a little bottle hastily in his pocket. Wait is that what I think it is?

“Ron, I warn you, don’t drink it!” Hermione says again, alarmed, but Ron picks up the glass, drains it in one gulp, and says, “Stop bossing me around, Hermione.”

She looks scandalized. Bending low so that only Harry and I (since I’m seated beside him) can hear her, she hisses, “You should be expelled for that. I’d never have believed it of you, Harry!”

“Hark who’s talking,” he whispers back. “Confunded anyone lately?”

“Can we all just please get along?” I groan feeling the stress starting to build again.

She storms up the table away from us. Harry watches her go without regret, and I clutch my head. Just great this day is going to be just lovely. I look over at Ron, who is smacking his lips.

“I can’t believe you did that.” I mutter quietly.

“We have a lot riding on this game Jamie. We need everyone on the top of their game so get out of your head.” Harry replies with a hard look. I wince and return back to poking my egg with my fork.

“Nearly time,” says Harry blithely. The three of us get up and start for the door. Before we can leave Ariana pops up in front of us. She’s dressed comfortably and her normal lion and jersey number are painted on her cheeks. A smile grows on my face.

“Hello Gryffindor, good luck out there today! I’m sure you’ll all be brilliant.” Ariana says. Harry and Ron sputter their thanks, and I don’t hesitate with the hug she offers me. I can still hear the whispers of the people, but I could honestly care less.

I release a heavy sigh, and Ariana pulls back to look at me worriedly. “You okay?” She questions lowering her voice so that the boys won’t hear.

“Yeah. Just ready for this game to be over, and for everything to go back to normal.” I say. She nods her head, and with a quick kiss tells me that she’ll see me after the game.

The frosty grass crunches underfoot as we stride down to the stadium.

“Pretty lucky the weather’s this good, eh?” Harry asks Ron.

“Yeah,” says Ron, who was pale and sick-looking.

Ginny is already wearing her Quidditch robes and waiting in the changing room so I quickly duck into the other room to change into mine. When I come back in tensions are high.

“Conditions look ideal,” says Ginny, ignoring Ron. “And guess what? That Slytherin Chaser Vaisey — he took a Bludger in the head yesterday during their practice, and he’s too sore to play! And even better than that — Malfoy’s gone off sick too!”

“What?” says Harry, wheeling around to stare at her. “He’s ill? What’s wrong with him?”

“Who cares?” I say plopping down onto the bench.

“No idea, but it’s great for us,” says Ginny brightly. “They’re playing Harper instead; he’s in my year and he’s an idiot.”

“At least something good will come of this game.” I say keeping an eye on Harry. I just know that he’s going crazy with this Malfoy information. He’s way too obsessed with the boy.

“Fishy, isn’t it?” he says in an undertone to Ron and me. “Malfoy not playing?”

“Lucky, I call it,” says Ron, looking slightly more animated. “And Vaisey off too, he’s their best goal scorer, I didn’t fancy — hey!” he says suddenly, freezing halfway through pulling on his Keeper’s gloves and staring at Harry.

“What?”

“I . . . you . . .” Ron has dropped his voice, he looks both scared and excited. “My drink . . . my pumpkin juice . . . you didn’t . . . ?”

Harry raises his eyebrows, but says nothing except, “We’ll be starting in about five minutes, you’d better get your boots on.”

I shake my head at him. Harry really puts everything on the line for Quidditch. I mean I’m almost as obsessed as he is yet I would never do that. Sometimes Harry still manages to surprise me.

We walk out onto the pitch to tumultuous roars and boos. One end of the stadium is solid red and gold; the other, a sea of green and silver. Many Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws have taken sides too: Amidst all the yelling and clapping I can distinctly hear the roar of Luna Lovegood’s famous lion-topped hat.

Harry steps up to Madam Hooch, the referee, who is standing ready to release the balls from the crate.

“Captains shake hands,” she says, and Harry has his hand crushed by the new Slytherin Captain, Urquhart. “Mount your brooms. On the whistle . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .”

The whistle sounds, all the players kick off hard from the frozen ground, and we are away. Like every other game I’m immediately thrust into the action by grabbing the quaffle and zipping away.

Then a voice that is jarringly different to the usual commentator’s starts up.

“Well, there they go, and I think we’re all surprised to see the team that Potter’s put together this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley’s patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the Captain does help. . . .”

These words are greeted with jeers and applause from the Slytherin end of the pitch. I chance a quick look at the commentators booth and frown. A tall, skinny blond boy with an upturned nose is standing there, talking into the magical megaphone that was once Lee Jordan’s; I recognize Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff player whom I heartily dislike.

Getting my head back into the game I fire a pass to Dean, and he catches it, only to be barreled into by a Slytherin player, and lose the quaffle.

“Oh, and here comes Slytherin’s first attempt on goal, it’s Urquhart streaking down the pitch and —”

My stomach turns over and I kick up more speed into my broom hoping to catch up and intercept.

“— Weasley saves it, well, he’s bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose. . . .”

If only he knew just how lucky Ron truly was going to be. The intensity of the game picks up and I draw in my focus and channel my current frustrations with my friends out on the Slytherins.

With half an hour of the game gone, Gryffindor is leading sixty points to zero, Ron having made some truly spectacular saves, some by the very tips of his gloves, and Ginny having scored four of Gryffindor’s six goals, me happy with scoring the other two. I am big enough and proud enough to admit that my sister is a far better player than me. This effectively stops Zacharias wondering loudly whether the two Weasleys are only there because Harry likes them, and he starts on Peakes and Coote instead.

“Of course, Coote isn’t really the usual build for a Beater,” says Zacharias loftily, “they’ve generally got a bit more muscle —”

It irks me that Zacharias is taking this job as a time to insult our entire team. The only reason he hasn’t started in on me for I’ve been on the team for years now.

“Hit a Bludger at him!” I hear Harry call to Coote as he zooms past, but Coote, grinning broadly, chooses to aim the next Bludger at Harper instead, who is just passing Harry in the opposite direction. I grin when I hear the dull thunk that means the Bludger has found its mark.

It seems as though Gryffindor can do no wrong. Again and again we score, and again and again, at the other end of the pitch, Ron saves goals with apparent ease. He is actually smiling now, and when the crowd greets a particularly good save with a rousing chorus of the old favorite “Weasley Is Our King,” he pretends to conduct them from on high. I roll my eyes at him, and hurriedly duck my head so that I avoid the bludger rocketing at me.

I manage to get my hands on the quaffle again and turn back down to the other side of the pitch.

“And I think Harper of Slytherin’s seen the Snitch!” says Zacharias Smith through his megaphone. “Yes, he’s certainly seen something Potter hasn’t!”

Crap. I collide with another of the Slytherin players and we scramble for the quaffle.

“YES!” I hear Harry yell. Wheeling around, I see him hurtle back towards the ground, the Snitch held high in his hand. I quickly swoop down to follow happiness rushing through me. As the crowd realizes what happened, a great shout goes up that almost drowns the sound of the whistle that signals the end of the game.

“Ginny, where’re you going?” yells Harry, who has found himself trapped in the midst of a mass midair hug with the rest of the team, but Ginny speeds right on past us until, with an almighty crash, she collides with the commentator’s podium. As the crowd shrieks and laughs, the Gryffindor team lands beside the wreckage of wood under which Zacharias is feebly stirring; I hear Ginny saying blithely to an irate Professor McGonagall, “Forgot to brake, Professor, sorry.”

Once on the ground I’m swept up into the arms of my girlfriend and twirled around. I let out a giggle and gladly accept the kiss that she gives me. “You won!” Ariana cries.

“We actually did it! I can’t wait to celebrate!” I grin. Ariana kisses my cheek, and gives me a soft smile.

“Go on. Celebrate. We’ll do something the two of us tomorrow.” Ariana tells me, pushing me back slightly to my team.

“You sure?” I ask not wanting to hurt her feelings. She nods, and I rush forward to kiss her happily once more before turning back to my jubilant team.

I watch as laughing, Harry breaks free of the rest of the team and hugs Ginny, but lets go very quickly. Avoiding her gaze, he claps a cheering Ron on the back instead as, all enmity forgotten, the Gryffindor team leaves the pitch arm in arm, punching the air and waving to their supporters.

The atmosphere in the changing room is jubilant.

“Party up in the common room, Seamus said!” yells Dean exuberantly. “C’mon, Ginny!”

Ron, Harry, and I are the last three in the changing room. We are just about to leave when Hermione enters. She is twisting her Gryffindor scarf in her hands and looks upset but determined.

“I want a word with you, Harry.” She takes a deep breath. “You shouldn’t have done it. You heard Slughorn, it’s illegal.”

“What are you going to do, turn us in?” demands Ron.

“Do we really have to have this conversation now?” I ask (okay maybe whine). I’m finally starting to feel good again.

“What are you guys talking about?” asks Harry, turning away to hang up his robes.

“You know perfectly well what we’re talking about!” says Hermione shrilly. “You spiked Ron’s juice with lucky potion at breakfast! Felix Felicis!”

“No, I didn’t,” says Harry, turning back to face us.

“Yes you did, Harry, and that’s why everything went right, there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!”

“I didn’t put it in!” says Harry, grinning broadly. He slips his hand inside his jacket pocket and draws out the tiny bottle that Hermione has seen in his hand that morning. It is full of golden potion and the cork is still tightly sealed with wax. “I wanted Ron to think I’d done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking.” He looks at Ron. “You saved everything because you felt lucky. You did it all yourself.”

He pockets the potion again. I shake my head in disbelief. This boy. I swear he’s going to be the death of me.

“There really wasn’t anything in my pumpkin juice?” Ron says, astounded. “But the weather’s good . . . and Vaisey couldn’t play. . . . I honestly haven’t been given lucky potion?”

Harry shakes his head. Ron gapes at him for a moment, then rounds on Hermione, imitating her voice. “You added Felix Felicis to Ron’s juice this morning, that’s why he saved everything! See! I can save goals without help, Hermione!”

“I never said you couldn’t — Ron, you thought you’d been given it too!”

But Ron has already strided past her out of the door with his broomstick over his shoulder.

“Er,” says Harry into the sudden silence; obviously he didn’t expect his plan to backfire like this, “shall . . . shall we go up to the party, then?”

“You go!” says Hermione, blinking back tears. “I’m sick of Ron at the moment, I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done. . . .”

And she storms out of the changing room too.

“I should go after her…” I say motioning to follow her but Harry grabs my arm.

“No. Celebrate with us. Give her some time, then go after her later. This is your day too.” Harry tells me leading the two of us up to the castle.

Harry and I cannot see Hermione at the Gryffindor celebration party, which is in full swing when we arrive. Renewed cheers and clapping greets our appearance, and Harry and I are soon surrounded by a mob of people congratulating us. I grin as we try to shake off the Creevey brothers, who want a blow-by-blow match analysis, and the large group of girls that encircled Harry, laughing at his least amusing comments and batting their eyelids (Merlin they’re desperate), it is some time before we can try to find Ron. At last, I manage to rescue him from Romilda Vane, who is hinting heavily that she would like to go to Slughorn’s Christmas party with him.

I think that I helped him dodge some danger with that one.

As we duck towards the drinks table, Harry walks straight into Ginny, Arnold the Pygmy Puff riding on her shoulder and Crookshanks mewing hopefully at her heels.

“Looking for Ron?” she asks, smirking. “He’s over there, the filthy hypocrite.”

We look into the corner she is indicating. There, in full view of the whole room, stands Ron wrapped so closely around Lavender Brown it is hard to tell whose hands were whose.

“Merlin, I think I’m going to be sick.” I groan grabbing a bottle of butterbeer and praying for some mind bleach.

“It looks like he’s eating her face, doesn’t it?” says Ginny dispassionately. “But I suppose he’s got to refine his technique somehow. Good game, Harry. Always fun Jamie.”

She pats Harry on the arm; but then she walks off to help herself to more butterbeer. Crookshanks trots after her, his yellow eyes fixed upon Arnold.

I turn away from Ron unable to watch, he does not look like he will be surfacing soon, just as the portrait hole is closing. With a sinking feeling, I think I see a mane of bushy brown hair whipping out of sight. I glance at Harry and see that he’s noticed the same thing as well.

We dart forward, pushing aside Romilda Vane again, and push open the portrait of the Fat Lady. The corridor outside seems to be deserted.

“Hermione?” I call. Harry gives me a worried look. Yeah his genius plan has definitely backfired.

We find her in the first unlocked classroom we try. She is sitting on the teacher’s desk, alone except for a small ring of twittering yellow birds circling her head, which she has clearly just conjured out of midair. I cannot help admiring her spellwork at a time like this.

“Oh, hello, Jamie, Harry,” she says in a brittle voice. “I was just practicing.”

“Yeah . . . they’re — er — really good. . . .” says Harry. I roll my eyes at Harry’s inability to talk in uncomfortable situations.

She says, in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, “Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations.”

“Er . . . does he?” says Harry. I sigh and make my way over to my best friend. I hop up on the desk next to her and bump her shoulder a little awkwardly.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t see him,” says Hermione. “He wasn’t exactly hiding it, was — ?”

The door behind us bursts open. To my horror, Ron comes in, laughing, pulling Lavender by the hand.

“Oh,” he says, drawing up short at the sight of Harry, Hermione, and me. This is not going to end well. Poor Hermione.

“Oops!” says Lavender, and she backs out of the room, giggling. The door swings shut behind her.

There is a horrible, swelling, billowing silence. Hermione is staring at Ron, who refuses to look at her, but says with an odd mixture of bravado and awkwardness, “Hi, Harry! Wondered where you’d got to!”

Hermione slides off the desk. The little flock of golden birds continue to twitter in circles around her head.

“You shouldn’t leave Lavender waiting outside,” she says quietly. “She’ll wonder where you’ve gone.”

She walks very slowly and erectly towards the door. Harry glances at Ron, who is looking relieved that nothing worse has happened. I hold my breath not believing for a second that nothing is going to happen.

“Oppugno!” comes a shriek from the doorway.

I spin around to see Hermione pointing her wand at Ron, her expression wild: The little flock of birds is speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets towards Ron, who yelps and covers his face with his hands, but the birds attack, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they can reach.

“Gerremoffme!” Ron yells, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenches open the door and disappears through it. I think I hear a sob before it slams.

I glance at Harry and sigh. “Ain’t no fury like a woman scorned.” I say before shaking my head and running after my best friend, leaving Harry to deal with my ridiculously thick brother.


	11. The Unbreakable Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 11- The Unbreakable Vow

 

Snow is swirling against the icy windows once more; Christmas is approaching fast. Hagrid has already single-handedly delivered the usual twelve Christmas trees for the Great Hall; garlands of holly and tinsel have been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glow from inside the helmets of suits of armor and great bunches of mistletoe have been hung at intervals along the corridors. Large groups of girls tend to converge underneath the mistletoe bunches every time Harry goes past (much to my amusement), which causes blockages in the corridors; fortunately, however, our frequent nighttime wanderings have given us an unusually good knowledge of the castle’s secret passageways, so that he is able, without too much difficulty, to navigate mistletoe-free routes between classes.

Sure I like indulging in the mistletoe with Ariana whenever the two of us wander the corridors in our walks after class. Its hard being in a relationship when in different houses for you can’t visit the other in their house or yours. So we make the most of our time together whether it be walks through the castle, or studying together in secluded corners of the library.

Ron, who might once have found the necessity of these detours a cause for jealousy rather than hilarity, simply roars with laughter about it all. Although I much preferred this new laughing, joking Ron to the moody, aggressive model he was for the last few weeks, the improved Ron comes at a heavy price. Firstly, Harry and I have to put up with the frequent presence of Lavender Brown, who seems to regard any moment that she is not kissing Ron as a moment wasted (there is not enough memory potion in the world); and secondly, Harry and I find ourselves once more the best friend of two people who seem unlikely ever to speak to each other again.

Ron, whose hands and forearms still bear scratches and cuts from Hermione’s bird attack, is taking a defensive and resentful tone.

“She can’t complain,” he tells Harry and me. “She snogged Krum. So she’s found out someone wants to snog me too. Well, it’s a free country. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

I swear that I’m going to hit him one of these days. We’re lucky that Harry has the better impulse control and reflexes for he has to stop me from lashing out at Ron more than once.

Harry does not answer, but pretends to be absorbed in the book we are supposed to have read before Charms next morning (Quintessence: A Quest). I’m lazily flying a muggle airplane that I drew on paper around above us. Determined as we are to remain friends with both Ron and Hermione, we are spending a lot of time with our mouths shut tight.

“I never promised Hermione anything,” Ron mumbles. “I mean, all right, I was going to go to Slughorn’s Christmas party with her, but she never said . . . just as friends . . . I’m a free agent. . . .”

“Merlin’s saggy pants Ron! I don’t care about your justifications any more! If you like sucking face with that vapid, giggling, empty-headed, bimbo then that’s up to you!” I declare not able to shut up this time. Harry sighs in exasperation. Ron snaps his mouth shut and glares at me.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion on the matter Jamie. ‘Sides we all know you’re on Hermione’s side in this anyway.” Ron spits. I freeze and narrow eyes at my redheaded brother. I’m not having luck in the brother department these days. First Luka decides to dodge me this morning when I tried to talk to him, and now Ron is being a prat.

“Okay that’s enough. Let’s just all calm down here.” Harry says interjecting himself between the two of us before a fight can break out.

“Don’t worry Harry. Ronald’s not worth the effort.” I respond flicking my wand and sending the little paper plane crashing into Ron’s head. He yelps indignantly, but Harry shuts him up with a look.

I guess I’m sort of on Hermione’s side, but she’s hardly been around to talk to lately. If we didn’t share the same dorm room then I swear that I’d never see her at all. So I’ve taken to ambushing her with Harry when he decides to go and find her.

Hermione refuses to sit in the common room while Ron is there, so Harry generally joins her in the library, which means that their (now our) conversations are held in whispers.

“He’s at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes,” says Hermione, while the librarian, Madam Pince, prowls the shelves behind us. “I really couldn’t care less.”

“Sure. Right.” I scoff, earning a furious glare from the girl.

Hermione raises her quill and dots an i so ferociously that she punctures a hole in her parchment. Harry says nothing. He bends a little lower over Advanced Potion-Making and continues to make notes on Everlasting Elixirs, occasionally pausing to decipher the Prince’s useful additions to Libatius Borage’s text. I’m beginning to think that I’m getting to be the least studious of my friends. Though Ron has definitely decided that school isn’t as important since getting with Lavender.

“And incidentally,” says Hermione, after a few moments, “you need to be careful.”

“For the last time,” says Harry, speaking in a slightly hoarse whisper after three-quarters of an hour of silence, “I am not giving back this book, I’ve learned more from the Half-Blood Prince than Snape or Slughorn have taught me in —”

“I’m not talking about your stupid so-called Prince,” says Hermione, giving his book a nasty look as though it has been rude to her. “I’m talking about earlier. I went into the girls’ bathroom just before I came in here and there were about a dozen girls in there, including that Romilda Vane (cue groan from me), trying to decide how to slip you a love potion. They’re all hoping they’re going to get you to take them to Slughorn’s party, and they all seem to have bought Fred and George’s love potions, which I’m afraid to say probably work —”

“Why didn’t you confiscate them then?” demands Harry. I snort thinking of the irony of a boy having to worry about something being slipped to him by a potential partner.

“They didn’t have the potions with them in the bathroom,” says Hermione scornfully. “They were just discussing tactics. As I doubt whether even the Half-Blood Prince” — she gives the book another nasty look — “could dream up an antidote for a dozen different love potions at once, I’d just invite someone to go with you, that’ll stop all the others thinking they’ve still got a chance. It’s tomorrow night, they’re getting desperate.”

“There isn’t anyone I want to invite,” mumbles Harry. I can tell by the look on his face that he is most likely thinking about Ginny.

“You’re always welcome to come with Ariana and I. I mean we’re all friends. We can tone down any mushy couple stuff for you. It would be fun.” I say trying to help my friend. Harry gives me a doubtful yet appreciative look.

“Thanks for the offer Jamie, but I couldn’t do that to you and Ariana. This will be one of the first events that you two are going to together.” He tells me.

“She’s looking forward to it as well. I ran into her in the hall the other day and she was practically bursting with excitement.” Hermione says with a smile. I grin thinking of my overly excited girlfriend. Hermione turns back to Harry.

“Well, just be careful what you drink, because Romilda Vane looked like she meant business,” she says grimly.

She hitches up the long roll of parchment on which she is writing her Arithmancy essay and continues to scratch away with her quill. Harry watches her with his mind a long way away.

“That girl is mental.” I comment with a shake of my head. Hermione grimaces and nods in agreement.

“Hang on a moment,” Harry says slowly. “I thought Filch had banned anything bought at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?”

I actually burst out into laughter at that.

“And when has anyone ever paid attention to what Filch has banned?” asks Hermione, still concentrating on her essay.

“Oh Harry…” I wheeze trying to catch my breath while staying quiet as to not attract the demon of the library.

“But I thought all the owls were being searched. So how come these girls are able to bring love potions into school?”

“Fred and George send them disguised as perfumes and cough potions,” says Hermione. “It’s part of their Owl Order Service.”

“You know a lot about it.” Harry says suspiciously.

Hermione gives him the kind of nasty look she just gave his copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

“It was all on the back of the bottles they showed Ginny and me in the summer,” she says coldly. “I don’t go around putting potions in people’s drinks . . . or pretending to, either, which is just as bad. . . .”

“Yeah, well, never mind that,” says Harry quickly. “The point is, Filch is being fooled, isn’t he? These girls are getting stuff into the school disguised as something else! So why couldn’t Malfoy have brought the necklace into the school — ?”

“Oh, Harry . . . not that again . . .”

“Come on, why not?” demands Harry. Well I was actually rather proud of Harry for not mentioning Malfoy for as long as he has.

“Look,” sighs Hermione, “Secrecy Sensors detect jinxes, curses, and concealment charms, don’t they? They’re used to find Dark Magic and Dark objects. They’d have picked up a powerful curse, like the one on that necklace, within seconds. But something that’s just been put in the wrong bottle wouldn’t register — and anyway, love potions aren’t Dark or dangerous —”

“Easy for you to say,” mutters Harry. I snicker a little at that, and dodge a swipe from him.

“— so it would be down to Filch to realize it wasn’t a cough potion, and he’s not a very good wizard, I doubt he can tell one potion from —”

Hermione stops dead; we heard it too. Somebody has moved close behind us among the dark bookshelves. We wait, and a moment later the vulturelike countenance of Madam Pince appears around the corner, her sunken cheeks, her skin like parchment, and her long hooked nose illuminated unflatteringly by the lamp she is carrying. See demon of the library (thanks Fred and George!).

“The library is now closed,” she says. “Mind you return anything you have borrowed to the correct — what have you been doing to that book, you depraved boy?”

“It isn’t the library’s, it’s mine!” says Harry hastily, snatching his copy of Advanced Potion-Making off the table as she lunges at it with a clawlike hand.

“Despoiled!” she hisses. “Desecrated! Befouled!”

“You forgot defaced.” I point out and cringe at the glare she sends me. Maybe I’ve been hanging out with the twins too much.

“It’s just a book that’s been written on!” says Harry, tugging it out of her grip.

She looks as though she might have a seizure; Hermione, who has hastily packed her things, grabs Harry by the arm and me with her other, and frog-marches us away.

“She’ll ban you from the library if you’re not careful. Why did you have to bring that stupid book?”

“It’s not my fault she’s barking mad, Hermione. Or d’you think she overheard you being rude about Filch? I’ve always thought there might be something going on between them. . . .”

I spurt laughter and nearly double over at the thought. It’d either be hilarious or absolutely horrifying.

“Oh, ha ha . . .” Hermione says, though I can see a faint smile beginning.

Enjoying the fact that we can speak normally again, we make our way along the deserted, lamp-lit corridors back to the common room, arguing about whether or not Filch and Madam Pince are secretly in love with each other.

“Baubles,” says Harry to the Fat Lady, this being the new, festive password.

“Same to you,” says the Fat Lady with a roguish grin, and she swings forward to admit us.

“Hi, Harry!” says Romilda Vane, the moment he has climbed through the portrait hole. “Fancy a gillywater?”

Hermione gives him a “what-did-I-tell-you?” look over her shoulder, while I shake my head.

“No thanks,” says Harry quickly. “I don’t like it much.”

“Well, take these anyway,” says Romilda, thrusting a box into his hands. “Chocolate Cauldrons, they’ve got firewhisky in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don’t like them.”

“Oh — right — thanks a lot,” says Harry, who looks lost. “Er — I’m just going over here with . . .”

He hurried off behind Hermione, his voice tailing away feebly. I look Romilda up and down which freezes her in fear, and I shake my head again walking away.

“Well the mean old girl loving Gryffindor just scared your potential girlfriend good.” I chuckle.

“Told you,” says Hermione succinctly. “Sooner you ask someone, sooner they’ll all leave you alone and you can —”

But her face suddenly turns blank; she has just spotted Ron and Lavender, who are entwined in the same armchair. I fight the urge to gag. They’re everywhere! I swear that Ariana and I aren’t that bad.

“Well, good night, Harry. Jamie I’ll see you upstairs.” says Hermione, though it is only seven o’clock in the evening, and she leaves for the girls’ dormitory without another word.

“Tell me Ari and I aren’t that disgusting.” I plead. Harry looks at Ron and his personal leech again.

“No. You guys are affectionate but not that needy.” Harry says, and I sigh with relief.

“Good. You don’t know how relieved I am to know that. Maybe there’s a spell in that book of yours that gives selective blindness?” I ask hopefully. Harry laughs but shakes his head, and I sigh in defeat.

“At least there’s only one more day of lessons and the party then we’ll be going to the Burrow.” Harry tells me. I smile hearing that.

“Yeah. I’m looking forward to going home.” I say happily.

“Maybe you can get all that junk sorted out with Luka while you’re there as well.” Harry suggests. I smile at the thought.

“There’s a reason why you’re my favorite best friend.” I beam at him. Harry laughs and starts for his dorm.

“We both know that title goes to Hermione.” He responds. I shake my head at him.

“Not when she’s acting like this is she. Besides you’re my favorite male best friend.” I fire back. Harry smiles and waves at me, and we both head up for bed.

Hopefully we can get through the last day of school without Ron and Hermione trying to kill each other. It would be nice to have all of my friends happy around the holiday.

But my hopes are not high, and they sink after enduring a Transfiguration lesson with them both next day. Thankfully I at least have Harry with me dealing with them. We have just embarked upon the immensely difficult topic of human Transfiguration; working in front of mirrors, we are supposed to be changing the color of our own eyebrows. Hermione laughs unkindly at Ron’s disastrous first attempt, during which he somehow managed to give himself a spectacular handlebar mustache; Ron retaliates by doing a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asks a question, which Lavender and Parvati find deeply amusing and which reduces Hermione to the verge of tears again.

She races out of the classroom on the bell, leaving half her things behind. I take off after her deciding that I finally have to address this Ron problem no matter how much she doesn’t want to talk about it. I follow her down to the bathroom the floor below class and lean against the wall across from the toilets.

I can hear her sniffling from inside. “You know… he’s not worth it Mione.” I say casually crossing my arms across my chest. The sniffling stops from inside the stall before starting up again with a little more intensity.

“You don’t understand Jamie. You have somebody. Your somebody is not an ignorant and vengeful prat either.” Hermione’s raspy voice drifts out. I chuckle slightly to myself at hearing that description.

“You should talk with Ariana. I feel like I fit that description, except I don’t particularly think I’m vengeful.” I say. I hear a chocked laugh this time.

“No… that’s because you were too clueless to play with others affections.” Hermione says finally coming out of the stall.

“Hey, at least I finally realized what a catch I had. Listen, I really thing that Ron isn’t worth all this heartache. Don’t get me wrong he’s my brother and I love him, but he’s not mature enough to realize that you’re an amazing woman.” I tell her gripping my best friend by the shoulders.

Hermione’s eyes are rimming in a light red, and are still a little glassy. I can see that my words are getting to her a little, but that getting over Ron is going to be something that is not going to come easily to Hermione.

“Oh. I thought that Myrtle was in here, but it appears not.” The floatie whimsical voice of Luna Lovegood interrupts our moment. Her abrupt appearance causes both Hermione and I to jump.

“Luna!” I cry clutching my chest. You’d think that I would have gotten used to her random appearances after last year but I guess not.

“Hello Jamie, Hermione. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. Ron Weasley is an odd fellow is he not, he has Lavender Brown sticking to him like she’s looking for rackspurts in his ears.” Luna says loftily. Hermione and I exchange a look before breaking out into laughter. Luna looks at us oddly until we’re able to get ourselves under control.

“Thank you Luna. I do believe I needed that.” Hermione chuckles wiping away the last of her tears.

“So, are you ready to go back out?” I ask. Hermione nods her head and the three of us make our way out of the bathroom and into the hall, only to see Harry standing there with Hermione’s and my bag.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” says Luna. “Did you know one of your eyebrows is bright yellow?”

“Hi, Luna. Hermione, Jamie you left your stuff. . . .”

He holds out our books.

“Oh yes,” says Hermione in a choked voice, taking her things and turning away quickly to hide the fact that she is still wiping her eyes on her pencil case. “Thank you, Harry. Well, I’d better get going. . . .”

And she hurries off, without giving Harry any time to offer words of comfort.

“She’s a bit upset,” says Luna. “I thought at first it was Moaning Myrtle in there, but it turned out to be Hermione. She said something about that Ron Weasley. . . .”

“Yeah, they’ve had a row,” says Harry.

“Not that that’s anything new.” I say crossly.

“He says very funny things sometimes, doesn’t he?” says Luna, as we set off down the corridor together. “But he can be a bit unkind. I noticed that last year.”

“I s’pose,” says Harry. Luna is demonstrating her usual knack of speaking uncomfortable truths. “So have you had a good term?”

“Oh, it’s been all right,” says Luna. “A bit lonely without the D.A. Ginny’s been nice, though. She stopped two boys in our Transfiguration class calling me ‘Loony’ the other day —”

“How would you like to come to Slughorn’s party with me tonight?” Harry blurts out suddenly. I look at my friend shocked. I didn’t expect this from him. I do like Luna and its nice of him to ask her, but I never thought he’d ask her.

“Slughorn’s party? With you?”

“Yeah,” says Harry. “We’re supposed to bring guests, so I thought you might like . . . I mean . . .” He is keen to make his intentions perfectly clear. “I mean, just as friends, you know. But if you don’t want to . . .”

I can already tell that he’s not sure of his choice.

“Oh, no, I’d love to go with you as friends!” says Luna, beaming as I have never seen her beam before. “Nobody’s ever asked me to a party before, as a friend! Is that why you dyed your eyebrow, for the party? Should I do mine too?”

“No,” says Harry firmly, “that was a mistake. I’ll get Hermione to put it right for me. So, I’ll meet you in the entrance hall at eight o’clock then.”

“AHA!” screams a voice from overhead and the three of us jump; unnoticed by us, we had just passed right underneath Peeves, who is hanging upside down from a chandelier and grinning maliciously at Harry and Luna.

“Potty asked Loony to go to the party! Potty lurves Loony! Potty luuuuurves Looooooony!”

And he zooms away, cackling and shrieking, “Potty loves Loony!”

“Nice to keep these things private,” says Harry.

“I think it’s nice of you to take her Harry. She’s a good one, a little odd granted but good all the same.” I tell him.

* * *

And sure enough, in no time at all the whole school seems to know that Harry Potter is taking Luna Lovegood to Slughorn’s party.

“You could’ve taken anyone!” says Ron in disbelief over dinner. “Anyone! And you chose Loony Lovegood?”

“Don’t call her that, Ron,” snaps Ginny, pausing behind Harry on her way to join friends. “I’m really glad you’re taking her, Harry, she’s so excited.”

And she moves on down the table to sit with Dean. A long way along the table, Hermione is sitting alone, playing with her stew. Harry notices Ron looking at her furtively.

“You could say sorry,” suggests Harry bluntly.

“You should say sorry.” I state.

“What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?” mutters Ron.

“What did you have to imitate her for?” Harry demands.

“She laughed at my mustache!”

“So did I, it was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.” I snort imagining the ridiculous thing.

But Ron does not seem to have heard; Lavender has just arrived with Parvati. Squeezing herself in between Harry and Ron, Lavender flings her arms around Ron’s neck. I suddenly regret sitting with Harry and Ron tonight since I have a head on view of the never-ending snog fest that is Ron and Lavender.

“Hi, Harry, Jamie,” says Parvati who, like us, look faintly embarrassed and bored by the behavior of our two friends.

“You two could— I’m going out on a limb here, actually eat for once instead of eat each other.” I say with a disgusted look on my face.

“Hi,” says Harry ignoring the suckerfish and me. “How’re you? You’re staying at Hogwarts, then? I heard your parents wanted you to leave.”

“I managed to talk them out of it for the time being,” says Parvati. “That Katie thing really freaked them out, but as there hasn’t been anything since . . . Oh, hi, Hermione!”

Parvati positively beams. I can tell that she is feeling guilty for having laughed at Hermione in Transfiguration. I look around and see that Hermione is beaming back, if possible even more brightly. Girls were very strange sometimes, and I’m a girl so that says something.

“Hi, Parvati!” says Hermione, ignoring Ron and Lavender completely. “Are you going to Slughorn’s party tonight?”

“No invite,” says Parvati gloomily. “I’d love to go, though, it sounds like it’s going to be really good. . . . You’re going, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m meeting Cormac at eight, and we’re —”

There is a noise like a plunger being withdrawn from a blocked sink and Ron surfaces (cue shudder). Hermione acts as though she has not seen or heard anything.

“— we’re going up to the party together.” Okay this is a new development. I swear I don’t know what’s going through Hermione’s mind half the time.

“Cormac?” says Parvati. “Cormac McLaggen, you mean?”

“That’s right,” says Hermione sweetly. “The one who almost” — she puts a great deal of emphasis on the word — “became Gryffindor Keeper.”

“Are you going out with him, then?” asks Parvati, wide-eyed.

“Oh — yes — didn’t you know?” says Hermione, with a most un-Hermione-ish giggle. Okay I am officially living in a parallel world. What on earth happened to my best friend? I’m going to need to look for a potions accident somewhere.

“No!” says Parvati, looking positively agog at this piece of gossip. “Wow, you like your Quidditch players, don’t you? First Krum, then McLaggen . . .”

“I like really good Quidditch players,” Hermione corrects her, still smiling. “Well, see you . . . Got to go and get ready for the party. . . .”

She leaves. At once Lavender and Parvati put their heads together to discuss this new development, with everything they have ever heard about McLaggen, and all they have ever guessed about Hermione. Ron looks strangely blank and says nothing. Harry looks deep in thought.

I sigh and rub my temples. “Well speaking of dates and going out, I have a very pretty lady to get ready for. I’ll see you at eight Harry?” I ask him, having made plans to meet up with him and Luna to go to the party.

“Yeah see you.” Harry says still looking slightly stunned at everything that happened.

I get up and make my way over to the Hufflepuff table, and make my way to Ariana. She busy talking with her friends, but I slump down next to her and no one bats an eye. People are used to us sitting at the wrong house tables that this point. Ariana doesn’t stop her conversation but she laces her hand with mine under the table.

I sit there contentedly until she turns her attention to me. “Something up Jamie? I thought we were meeting at eight so that I can knock your socks off.” She says with a cocky smirk.

“Something weird just happened with Hermione…” I say, and Ariana gives me her full attention. Once I’m done relaying the story she breaks out into raucous laughter.

“Oh Jamie. Never change.” She chuckles, and then she proceeds to explain exactly what happened with Hermione and the gossip girls.

* * *

When eight o’clock comes around I’m more than a little nervous. This will be the first party that Ariana and I are attending together as a couple and everyone knows it. I’m also a little worried about whether or not she’ll like my dress. I hate wearing these things but both Ginny and Hermione said that it was a must.

There’s only one person that I’d ear a dress for anymore and that was Ariana. Though both Ginny and Hermione sternly informed me that when they get married that I will be wearing the appropriate bridesmaid dress. I swear they’re out to kill me sometimes.

The dress that I’m wearing is a gold color. I had liked it when I saw it because it reminded me of the color of Ariana’s hair and Hermione and Ginny had approved of it. I just hope that she likes the way it looks on me. If not then I wasted a lot of time spent agonizing over the perfect thing to wear.

Hermione had left earlier than me for she claimed that she was meeting up with Cormac before us. So that left just Harry and I walking down the stairs to the entrance hall. Harry was nervous about the whole night in general. I didn’t really blame him; if it weren’t for Ariana I would be dreading this night as well.

I noticed that there were an unusually large number of girls loitering around the hall and that almost all their envious looks were directed at Luna. Boy Wonder definitely has quite the fan club I’ve got to say.

Once my eyes fell on a familiar figure standing at the foot of the steps I couldn’t look away. Ariana Dumbledore is standing there draped in a warm red dress that reminds me of the fire flickering merrily up in the common room. Her blond hair is swept up in a fancy updo and honestly she took my breath away. What did I do to deserve a girl like her?

Before I realize it I’m directly in front of my girlfriend. She’s an inch or two taller then me because of the heels she’s wearing, but it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. “Beautiful.” I breathe. A smile grows on Ariana’s face.

“That’s my line. Jamie, you’re stunning.” Ariana tells me, leaning forward and brushing a light kiss to my cheek. I feel love bubble up inside me for the girl. Even in the small gestures she still knows how to make me feel incredibly loved and cared for.

“So— are you ready for this?” I ask her nervously. Ariana smiles at me and laces her fingers through mine.

“This party no so much, but spending a night with you— I’m always ready for that.” She whispers. I smile up and her and raise our combined hands to kiss her knuckles.

“Such a sweet talker.” I tease. I pull Ariana over to Harry and Luna so that we can walk with them to the party. Strength in numbers is better for entering Slughorn’s parties in my opinion.

I take a look at Luna. She is wearing a set of spangled silver robes that are attracting a certain amount of giggles from the onlookers, but otherwise she looks quite nice.

“You look beautiful Luna.” Ariana complements her. Luna smiles brightly at her.

“Shall we get going then?” Harry interrupts not wanting to stick around for chitchat.

“Oh yes,” Luna says happily. “Where is the party?”

“Slughorn’s office,” says Harry, leading us up the marble staircase away from all the staring and muttering. “Did you hear, there’s supposed to be a vampire coming?”

“Rufus Scrimgeour?” asks Luna.

“I — what?” says Harry, disconcerted. “You mean the Minister of Magic?”

“Yes, he’s a vampire,” says Luna matter-of-factly. “Father wrote a very long article about it when Scrimgeour first took over from Cornelius Fudge, but he was forced not to publish by somebody from the Ministry. Obviously, they didn’t want the truth to get out!”

Ariana and I share a look, but don’t let the giggles that want to escape out. Usually we would be more composed but there’s something about this night that is making everything almost lighter.

We are already approaching Slughorn’s office and the sounds of laughter, music, and loud conversation are growing louder with every step we take. Boy am I not looking forward to seeing Slughorn.

Whether it was built that way, or because he used magical trickery to make it so, Slughorn’s office is much larger than the usual teacher’s study. The ceiling and walls have been draped with emerald, crimson, and gold hangings, so that it looks as though we are all inside a vast tent. The room is crowded and stuffy and bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the center of the ceiling in which real fairies are fluttering, each a brilliant speck of light. Loud singing accompanied by what sounds like mandolins issued from a distant corner; a haze of pipe smoke hangs over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves are negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they are bearing, so that they look like little roving tables.

“Harry, m’boy!” booms Slughorn, almost as soon as Harry, Luna, Ariana, and I have squeezed in through the door. “Come in, come in, so many people I’d like you to meet!”

I gaze after Harry feeling slightly sorry for him but not really. He has managed to duck so many of these parties to begin with that it’s about time that he’s had to start dealing with the man.

“So… what are you in the mood for? Food? Drink? Dance?” Ariana asks wiggling her eyebrow cheekily. I roll my eyes at her but a smile is on my face.

“I say let’s find some yummy treats, avoid Slughorn at all costs, and laugh at the pretentious suck ups.” I say leaning in closer to my girlfriend’s side. Ariana chuckles and pulls me closer to her while leading us through the swelling crowd.

“You definitely know how to show a girl a good time. One question though, aren’t we pretentious?” Ariana questions me with a raised brow. I scoff.

“We come from famous and well known families— there’s a difference.” I point out. With that we make our way to the buffet and steal as many delectable appetizers and pastries to our hearts content.

“Wonder where Hermione is. I honestly don’t know if I could believe her with McLaggen.” Ariana murmurs, looking around to see if she could spot the aforementioned girl.

We catch a flash of long brown hair across the room, and Ariana tugs me in that direction. We manage to get to the spot at the same time that Harry and Luna do. The four of us push behind the two Weird Sisters and find Hermione.

“Hermione! Hermione!” I call.

“Jamie! Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Ariana, Luna!”

“What’s happened to you?” asks Harry, for Hermione looks distinctly disheveled, rather as though she has just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil’s Snare.

“Oh, I’ve just escaped — I mean, I’ve just left Cormac,” she says. “Under the mistletoe,” she adds in explanation, as Harry continues to look questioningly at her.

“Serves you right for coming with him,” he tells her severely.

“You could have asked someone less pushy.” I say with a shrug. I wince and pout when Ariana smacks me lightly on the arm.

“I thought he’d annoy Ron most,” says Hermione dispassionately. “I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —”

“You considered Smith?” says Harry, revolted.

“No Mione.” I moan resting my forehead on Ariana’s shoulder.

“That’s a really questionable decision Hermione.” Ari says.

“Yes, I did, and I’m starting to wish I’d chosen him, McLaggen makes Grawp look a gentleman. Let’s go this way, we’ll be able to see him coming, he’s so tall. . . .”

The five of us make our way over to the other side of the room, scooping up goblets of mead on the way, realizing too late that Professor Trelawney is standing there alone.

“Hello,” says Luna politely to Professor Trelawney.

“Good evening, my dear,” says Professor Trelawney, focusing upon Luna with some difficulty. I can smell cooking sherry again. “I haven’t seen you in my classes lately. . . .”

“No, I’ve got Firenze this year,” says Luna.

“Oh, of course,” says Professor Trelawney with an angry, drunken titter. “Or Dobbin, as I prefer to think of him. You would have thought, would you not, that now I am returned to the school Professor Dumbledore might have got rid of the horse? But no . . . we share classes. . . . It’s an insult, frankly, an insult. Do you know . . .”

Professor Trelawney seems too tipsy to have recognized Harry or the rest of us. Under cover of her furious criticisms of Firenze, Harry and I draw closer to Hermione and say, “Let’s get something straight. Are you planning to tell Ron that you interfered at Keeper tryouts?”

Hermione raises her eyebrows. “Do you really think I’d stoop that low?”

Harry looks at her shrewdly. “Hermione, if you can ask out McLaggen —”

“There’s a difference,” says Hermione with dignity. “I’ve got no plans to tell Ron anything about what might, or might not, have happened at Keeper tryouts.”

“Good,” says Harry fervently. “Because he’ll just fall apart again, and we’ll lose the next match —”

“Quidditch!” says Hermione angrily. “Is that all boys care about? Cormac hasn’t asked me one single question about myself, no, I’ve just been treated to ‘A Hundred Great Saves Made by Cormac McLaggen’ nonstop ever since — oh no, here he comes!”

She moves so fast it is as though she has Disapparated; one moment she is there, the next, she has squeezed between two guffawing witches and vanished.

“Seen Hermione?” asks McLaggen, forcing his way through the throng a minute later.

“No, sorry,” says Harry, and he turns quickly to join in Luna’s conversation, forgetting for a split second to whom she is talking. I move back close to Ariana who looks like she’d rather be in any other conversation than this. As long as I’m not noticed then I’m happy. I still have a bad taste in my mouth from being in her class last year.

“Harry Potter!” says Professor Trelawney in deep, vibrant tones, noticing him for the first time.

“Oh, hello,” says Harry unenthusiastically.

“My dear boy!” she says in a very carrying whisper. “The rumors! The stories! ‘The Chosen One’! Of course, I have known for a very long time. . . . The omens were never good, Harry. . . . But why have you not returned to Divination? For you, of all people, the subject is of the utmost importance!”

“Ah, Sybill, we all think our subject’s most important!” says a loud voice, and Slughorn appears at Professor Trelawney’s other side, his face very red, his velvet hat a little askew, a glass of mead in one hand and an enormous mince pie in the other.  “But I don’t think I’ve ever known such a natural at Potions!” says Slughorn, regarding Harry with a fond, if bloodshot, eye. “Instinctive, you know — like his mother! I’ve only ever taught a few with this kind of ability, I can tell you that, Sybill — why even Severus —”

And to Harry’s (and my) horror, Slughorn throws out an arm and seems to scoop Snape out of thin air towards us.

“Stop skulking and come and join us, Severus!” hiccups Slughorn happily. “I was just talking about Harry’s exceptional potion-making! Some credit must go to you, of course, you taught him for five years!”

Trapped, with Slughorn’s arm around his shoulders, Snape looks down his hooked nose at Harry, his black eyes narrowed.

“Funny, I never had the impression that I managed to teach Potter anything at all.”

“Is it too late to back away?” Ariana whispers in my ear. I swallow nervously, and glance at all the people. There’s too many to back away unnoticed so I shake my head.

“Well, then, it’s natural ability!” shouts Slughorn. “You should have seen what he gave me, first lesson, Draught of Living Death — never had a student produce finer on a first attempt, I don’t think even you, Severus —”

“Really?” says Snape quietly, his eyes still boring into Harry, who feels a certain disquiet. I grimace. The last thing we need is for Snape to start looking into Harry’s newfound potions brilliance.

“Remind me what other subjects you’re taking, Harry?” asks Slughorn.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology . . .”

“All the subjects required, in short, for an Auror,” says Snape, with the faintest sneer.

“Yeah, well, that’s what I’d like to do,” says Harry defiantly.

“And a great one you’ll make too!” booms Slughorn.

“I don’t think you should be an Auror, Harry,” says Luna unexpectedly. Everybody looks at her. “The Aurors are part of the Rotfang Conspiracy, I thought everyone knew that. They’re working to bring down the Ministry of Magic from within using a combination of Dark Magic and gum disease.”

Harry inhales half his mead up his nose as he starts to laugh. Ariana buries her face into my shoulder to muffle her giggles, and I cough to cover my laugh. Okay maybe it was worth coming to this thing. Something makes the night even better: Draco Malfoy being dragged by the ear towards us by Argus Filch.

“Professor Slughorn,” wheezes Filch, his jowls aquiver and the maniacal light of mischief-detection in his bulging eyes, “I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?”

Malfoy pulls himself free of Filch’s grip, looking furious.

“All right, I wasn’t invited!” he says angrily. “I was trying to gate-crash, happy?”

“No, I’m not!” says Filch, a statement at complete odds with the glee on his face.  “You’re in trouble, you are! Didn’t the headmaster say that nighttime prowling’s out, unless you’ve got permission, didn’t he, eh?”

“That’s all right, Argus, that’s all right,” says Slughorn, waving a hand. “It’s Christmas, and it’s not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we’ll forget any punishment; you may stay, Draco.”

Filch’s expression of outraged disappointment is perfectly predictable; but why, I wonder, watching him, does Malfoy look almost equally unhappy? And why is Snape looking at Malfoy as though both angry and . . . is it possible? . . . a little afraid?

Could it be that Harry has actually been onto something this whole time?

But almost before I had registered what I had seen, Filch has turned and shuffled away, muttering under his breath; Malfoy composes his face into a smile and is thanking Slughorn for his generosity, and Snape’s face is smoothly inscrutable again. I glance at Harry to see if he saw what I did and the look on his face confirms that he did.

“It’s nothing, nothing,” says Slughorn, waving away Malfoy’s thanks. “I did know your grandfather, after all. . . .”

“He always spoke very highly of you, sir,” says Malfoy quickly. “Said you were the best potion-maker he’d ever known. . . .”

I stare at Malfoy. It is not the sucking-up that intrigued me; I have watched Malfoy do that to Snape for a long time. It is the fact that Malfoy does, after all, look a little ill. This is the first time I have seen Malfoy close up since he outed Ariana and me; I now see that Malfoy has dark shadows under his eyes and a distinctly grayish tinge to his skin.

“I’d like a word with you, Draco,” says Snape suddenly.

“Oh, now, Severus,” says Slughorn, hiccupping again, “it’s Christmas, don’t be too hard —”

“I’m his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be,” says Snape curtly. “Follow me, Draco.”

They leave, Snape leading the way, Malfoy looking resentful. Harry stands there for a moment, irresolute, then says, “I’ll be back in a bit, Luna — er — bathroom.”

I know immediately that Harry’s going to go after them. Unfortunately it’s my job to make sure that my foolish friend doesn’t do anything that he’s going to regret later.

“All right,” Luna says cheerfully, and she resumes the subject of the Rotfang Conspiracy with Professor Trelawney, who seems sincerely interested.

With an apologetic glance at Ariana I follow after Harry. I catch up to him out in the hallway.

“You’re not going without me.” I tell him firmly. Harry gives me a hard look then sighs pulling out his invisibility cloak.

“Hold it.” We both freeze at the sound of a new voice and whip around to see Ariana standing there.

“Ari—” I start.

“I don’t want to hear it Jamie. This is our night, and I know that you need to do this with Harry, but you’re not leaving me. I can keep a secret better than anyone.” Ariana says staring at both of us hard. Harry and I exchange a glance. “Come on guys don’t you know me by now?”

“Fine, but you have to be quiet.” Harry says gesturing Ariana over and throwing the cloak over the three of us.

What is difficult is finding Snape and Malfoy. Harry, Ariana, and I run as best we can down the corridor, the noise of our feet masked by the music and loud talk still issuing from Slughorn’s office behind us. Perhaps Snape has taken Malfoy to his office in the dungeons . . . or perhaps he is escorting him back to the Slytherin common room. . . . we press our ears against door after door as we dash down the corridor until, with a great jolt of excitement, Harry drags us down to crouch at the keyhole of the last classroom in the corridor and hear voices.

“. . . cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled —”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it, all right?”

“I hope you are telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it.”

“Who suspects me?” says Malfoy angrily. “For the last time, I didn’t do it, okay? That Bell girl must’ve had an enemy no one knows about — don’t look at me like that! I know what you’re doing, I’m not stupid, but it won’t work — I can stop you!”

There is a pause and then Snape says quietly, “Ah . . . Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, I see. What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?”

I stiffen and try to hold in the fear and anger that’s bubbling and swirling around inside me. I feel Ariana’s hand grasp mine tightly. I really have to make sure that my powers don’t start up and set the cloak on fire.

“I’m not trying to conceal anything from him, I just don’t want you butting in!”

“So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You have feared my interference? You realize that, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told them repeatedly to be there, Draco —”

“So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!” jeers Malfoy.

There is another pause. Then Snape says, “You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do either of those things.”

“You’d better stop telling me to come to your office then!”

“Listen to me,” says Snape, his voice so low now that we have to push our ears very hard against the keyhole to hear. “I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco —”

Oh that’s not good. That’s not good at all.

“Looks like you’ll have to break it, then, because I don’t need your protection! It’s my job, he gave it to me and I’m doing it, I’ve got a plan and it’s going to work, it’s just taking a bit longer than I thought it would!”

“What is your plan?”

“It’s none of your business!”

“If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you —”

“I’ve got all the assistance I need, thanks, I’m not alone!”

“You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme, wandering the corridors without lookouts or backup, these are elementary mistakes —”

“I would’ve had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn’t put them in detention!”

“Keep your voice down!” spits Snape, for Malfoy’s voice has risen excitedly. “If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres —”

“What does it matter?” says Malfoy. “Defense Against the Dark Arts — it’s all just a joke, isn’t it, an act? Like any of us need protecting against the Dark Arts —”

“It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!” says Snape. “Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle —”

“They’re not the only ones, I’ve got other people on my side, better people!”

“Then why not confide in me, and I can —”

“I know what you’re up to! You want to steal my glory!”

There is another pause, then Snape says coldly, “You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your father’s capture and imprisonment has upset you, but —”

We have barely a second’s warning; we hear Malfoy’s footsteps on the other side of the door and fling ourselves out of the way just as it bursts open; Malfoy is striding away down the corridor, past the open door of Slughorn’s office, around the distant corner, and out of sight.

Hardly daring to breathe, we remain crouched down as Snape emerges slowly from the classroom. His expression unfathomable, he returns to the party. The three of us remain on the floor, hidden beneath the cloak. “Is this what all of your adventures are like?” Ariana breathes out.

Harry and I glance at each other and respond at the same time.

“More or less.”


	12. A Very Frosty Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 12- A Very Frosty Christmas

 

Suffice to say that this holiday was going to be filled with more than Christmas cheer this year. After we managed to slip back into the party I could see that Harry was more determined and focused than ever before. With what we overheard that night my stomach has been in knots. Surprisingly Ariana was coming to the Burrow with us this year for Christmas as well. I could tell that she isn’t exactly the happiest about it. I know that it’s because her grandfather is being extremely distant to her. He’s all the family that she has left and I know that she doesn’t want to lose him as well.

It turns out that I was right about Harry not being able to let go of the whole Malfoy discovery for some well-deserved rest.

“So Snape was offering to help him? He was definitely offering to help him?” Ron says for the umpteenth time.

“If you ask that once more,” says Harry, “I’m going to stick this sprout —”

“I’m only checking!” says Ron. The three of us are standing alone at the Burrow’s kitchen sink, peeling a mountain of sprouts for Molly. Snow is drifting past the window in front of us.

“Yes, Snape was offering to help him!” says Harry. “He said he’d promised Malfoy’s mother to protect him, that he’d made an Unbreakable Oath or something —”

“An Unbreakable Vow?” says Ron, looking stunned. “Nah, he can’t have. . . . Are you sure?” Ron glances to me for confirmation.

“I still can’t believe it but yes.” I mutter peeling one of the sprouts rather savagely.

“See,” says Harry. “Why, what does it mean?”

“Well, you can’t break an Unbreakable Vow. . . .”

“I’d worked that much out for myself, funnily enough. What happens if you break it, then?”

Ron and I share a quick glance. Harry hasn’t exactly been the happiest with Ariana and me since we wouldn’t tell him what it was. In fact Ariana stepped back and swore up and down that she refused to have a part in any of what’s going on. My girlfriend is smart, if only I had the choice to do the same.

“You die,” says Ron simply. “Fred and George tried to get me to make one when I was about five. I nearly did too, I was holding hands with Fred and everything when Dad found us. He went mental,” says Ron, with a reminiscent gleam in his eyes.  “Only time I’ve ever seen Dad as angry as Mum. Fred reckons his left buttock has never been the same since.”

“Yeah, well, passing over Fred’s left buttock —” I say with a look of distate.

“I beg your pardon?” says Fred’s voice as the twins enter the kitchen.

“Aaah, George, look at this. They’re using knives and everything. Bless them.”

“I’ll be seventeen in two and a bit months’ time,” says Ron grumpily, “and then I’ll be able to do it by magic!”

“Why haven’t you whipped your wand out lovely sister dear?” George questions. I shift my eyes over to them and shrug. Yes Luka and I have passed that magical age, and we are now considered legal wizarding adults. That means that we can perform magic legally outside of Hogwarts now.

I glance at my friends and notice Ron’s grumpy face at the reminder that Luka and I are older than him.

“Solidarity.” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders. I can’t help that I like working with my hands as well. That’s mainly why I volunteered to help the boys out in the first place.

“So boring.” Fred rolls his eyes at me.

“But meanwhile,” says George, sitting down at the kitchen table and putting his feet up on it, “we can enjoy watching you demonstrate the correct use of a — whoops-a-daisy!”

“You made me do that!” says Ron angrily, sucking his cut thumb. “You wait, when I’m seventeen —”

“I’m sure you’ll dazzle us all with hitherto unsuspected magical skills,” yawns Fred.

“And speaking of hitherto unsuspected skills, Ronald,” says George, “what is this we hear from Ginny about you and a young lady called — unless our information is faulty — Lavender Brown?”

I gag and shoot the twins a reproachful look for bringing that train wreck up again. I had to watch a disgusting display already on the train back from school, this is supposed to my reprieve from their gross PDA.

Ron turns a little pink, but does not look displeased as he turns back to the sprouts. “Mind your own business.”

“What a snappy retort,” says Fred. “I really don’t know how you think of them. No, what we wanted to know was . . . how did it happen?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Did she have an accident or something?”

“What?”

“Well, how did she sustain such extensive brain damage? Careful, now!”

Molly enters the room just in time to see Ron throw the sprout knife at Fred, who has turned it into a paper airplane with one lazy flick of his wand.

“Ron!” she says furiously. “Don’t you ever let me see you throwing knives again!”

“I won’t,” says Ron, “let you see,” he adds under his breath, as he turns back to the sprout mountain.

“Fred, George, I’m sorry, dears, but Remus is arriving tonight, so Bill will have to squeeze in with you two.”

“No problem,” says George.

“Then, as Charlie isn’t coming home, that just leaves Harry, Ron, and Luka in the attic, and if Fleur shares with Ginny, Jamie, and Ariana —”

“— that’ll make Ginny’s Christmas —” mutters Fred.

I sigh thinking of the fit Ginny will throw and the tension that will be added to the room tonight. And a Merry Christmas to no one.

“— everyone should be comfortable. Well, they’ll have a bed, anyway,” says Molly, sounding slightly harassed.

“Percy definitely not showing his ugly face, then?” asks Fred.

Molly turns away before she answers. “No, he’s busy, I expect, at the Ministry.”

“Or he’s the world’s biggest prat,” says Fred, as Molly leaves the kitchen.  “One of the two. Well, let’s get going, then, George.”

“What are you two up to?” asks Ron. “Can’t you help us with these sprouts? You could just use your wand and then we’ll be free too!”

“No, I don’t think we can do that,” says Fred seriously. “It’s very character-building stuff, learning to peel sprouts without magic, makes you appreciate how difficult it is for Muggles and Squibs —”

“— and if you want people to help you, Ron,” adds George, throwing the paper airplane at him, “I wouldn’t chuck knives at them. Just a little hint. We’re off to the village, there’s a very pretty girl working in the paper shop who thinks my card tricks are something marvelous . . . almost like real magic. . . .”

“Gits,” says Ron darkly, watching Fred and George setting off across the snowy yard. “Would’ve only taken them ten seconds and then we could’ve gone too.”

“I couldn’t,” says Harry. “I promised Dumbledore I wouldn’t wander off while I’m staying here.”

“Jamie a little help?” Ron tries pleading again. I only shake my head at him, and he pouts.

“Oh yeah,” says Ron. He peels a few more sprouts and then says, “Are you going to tell Dumbledore what you heard Snape and Malfoy saying to each other?”

“Yep,” says Harry. “I’m going to tell anyone who can put a stop to it, and Dumbledore’s top of the list. I might have another word with your dad too.”

“Pity you didn’t hear what Malfoy’s actually doing, though.”

“I couldn’t have done, could I? That was the whole point, he was refusing to tell Snape.”

“I still think you should be careful Harry. We know something is up, but that doesn’t mean that people will believe us.” I point out.

There is silence for a moment or two, then Ron says, “’Course, you know what they’ll all say? Dad and Dumbledore and all of them? They’ll say Snape isn’t really trying to help Malfoy, he was just trying to find out what Malfoy’s up to.”

“Exactly.” I say actually thankful for Ron for once.

“They didn’t hear him,” says Harry flatly. “No one’s that good an actor, not even Snape.”

“Yeah . . . I’m just saying, though,” says Ron.

Harry turns to face him, frowning. “You think I’m right, though?”

“Yeah, I do!” says Ron hastily. “Seriously, I do! But they’re all convinced Snape’s in the Order, aren’t they?”

“And you! You should definitely be on my side since you overheard everything as well.” Harry glowers. I hold my hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

“I never said that I wasn’t just that you had to think things through.” I placate him.

“Well as long as you’re not going to bury your head in the sand and hide like Ariana.” Harry grumbles. I slam down my knife on the counter and glare at my friend.

“Let me put this simple enough for you Harry Potter. I am your friend and I will always be by your side. That does not however mean that I always have to agree with every word that comes out of your mouth.” I hiss and take a step closer to the black haired boy who backs into Ron.

“And don’t let me ever hear you talking badly about my girlfriend. What Ariana chooses to do is her own choice. She is not a part of our group so we should respect her decisions. In the mean time Harry why don’t you come find me when you’ve pulled your head out of your arse.” I growl.

With that I spin on my heel and storm out of the kitchen and into the living room. I grimace when I see Ginny and Ariana caught in the clutches of conversation with Fleur. I don’t think that I can handle dealing with her after my last blow up. I make a quick exit to the stairs. I’m only able to make it up a couple before I’m brought to a halt.

Sitting a few steps above me staring intently at a book is none other than my brother. I haven’t spoken to him in so long. It’s weird that I haven’t been near him in so long. We’re twins we used to be so in tune with each other. Now one minor change happens and its like we’re eerily resembling strangers.

He’s grown a little more again putting him a good few inches taller than me even though I’m quite tall myself standing at five foot eight inches. His glasses are sitting slightly askew on his face, and his hair has grown out a little longer and its messy like he’s run his hand through it a lot.

It takes a moment but Luka raises his gaze from his book to look at me. I can see that he’s slightly startled to see me standing there, but he doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

“Jamie.” He says finally. I’m almost let down.

“Luka.” I return not exactly sure where this conversation is going. We stare at each other for a few more long seconds. It truly is strange.

“Would— would you like to talk?”

I’m so shocked that he’s spoken to me again for a moment that his sentence doesn’t even register in my brain.

“Jamie?”

“Er— yes!” I say quickly, kicking myself for sounding so eager. Luka closes his book and stands up from his stair. He turns and disappears up the staircase, and I’m quick to follow him.

He leads us up to his room in the attic that he shares with Ron and now Harry. As soon as I’m inside the room Luka closes the door. Now we’re truly alone. I glance around the room finding that nothing has really changed much. Ron’s half of the Ron looks like a wardrobe threw up in it, and Luka’s side looks so neat that its hotel quality.

I turn back around and see that Luka is nervously shuffling some papers on his desk. I sigh and slump down onto my twin’s bed.

“I’ve been writing a girl.” Luka blurts out suddenly. For the second time in the short span that we’ve been in each other’s company my brother has managed to shock me.

“You’ve been writing a girl?” I repeat still unsure of what I’ve just heard. Luka nods his head.

“Ever since the end of fourth year. We’ve sort of been pen-pals.” Luka explains. Well he’s actually telling me about the girl he’s been writing to all these years.

“Really? So you and this— girl… are you together?” I ask not sure how to phrase this.

“No! No… it’s nothing like that. I met her when the Tri-Wizard Tournament was being held. I-I was just being nice to her, but she seemed to grow attached, so when they left she gave me her address so that we could write. She’s been teaching me some French while I help her out with some English. It’s hard to do through letters but we make do.” Luka stutters out fast.

Well this is definitely not where I imagined this conversation going at all. I feel the need to pinch myself to see whether this is actually happening or not.

“Well… do I get to know the name of this girl?” I ask slowly not sure if I should push the subject. I can see the color race to my brother’s cheeks from here.

“As long as you promise not to judge.” He relents. I nod my head and make the old X symbol on my chest.

“Gabrielle Delacour.”

I almost don’t hear him because he says the name in almost a whisper. I feel my eyes widen at the information.

“As in Fleur downstairs little sister.” I say trying to make sure that I’m hearing things right. Luka nods his head almost ashamedly. I mull over that information for a while.

“Well… you said nothing was going on with her right?” I say. Luka nods his head earnestly.

“Then I guess I see nothing wrong with being friends with her. Its not like you’ve seen her since then.” I shrug. The look of relief on my brother’s face is staggering. He slumps down in his desk chair and looks at me gratefully. More than a little part of me is angry that he is dumping all this on me when he’s been icing me out for so long over my relationship with Ariana.

“Jamie… I—” Luka halts. “I guess I told you this to try and… try and say sorry for how I’ve acted. I honestly have been a prat—”

“A giant prat.” I cut in sharply. Luka winces and scratches the back of his head guiltily.

“Right, a giant prat. I-I am really sorry for how I’ve been treating you—”

“And Ariana.” I interject again.

“Right, and Ariana. I… I know that you probably don’t want to hear my excuse but, I’d like for you to know. I really am sorry Jamie, so sorry.” Luka apologizes. I look up at him and see that there are tears running down his cheeks. I bite my lip. Part of me is still furious for the months of ignoring me and not speaking to me, but the bigger part of me wants to forgive and start trying to forget.

“Tell me.” I say gripping the sheets of his bed tightly. Luka looks startled that I have decided to hear him out.

“Well I guess I’ll start back when you and Ariana first— came out to the family. Everyone seemed so— I dunno unsurprised. I was surprised. I mean for Merlin’s sake Ariana is my best friend and I find out she’s attracted to my sister! My sister of all things. I just— I wasn’t expecting that. It felt like a betrayal my own sister and best friend getting together behind my back. So yeah, I guess it made me a little angry.”

“Seeing you two together looking so happy didn’t help things either. It was like you had it just so easy. You were together with her and no one cared. I-I was jealous.” Luka explains.

“Easy? You think that any of that was easy? I didn’t even know that I liked anyone before Ariana. Hell I didn’t even know if I liked anyone! Do you know how nerve wrecking it is to be different? I was so afraid that my friends wouldn’t like me anymore, that the Weasley’s wouldn’t want to keep my anymore! Thankfully that didn’t happen, and I love them even more for being so accepting. Did you not see what happened at school when Malfoy outed Ariana and me?” I demand.

Luka winces again and I can see the anger buried in his eyes, and I can tell that it’s not directed at me.

“I know! I saw! I hated— hate how they treat you! You’ve done nothing wrong.” Luka cries. I grit my jaw.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” I demand, angry bitter tears escaping my eyes.

“I was guilty! I felt awful. I didn’t know how to fix it. So much time had passed, and I thought that you wouldn’t want me back. God Jamie, it was eating me up inside! What kind of person would do that to his own sister?” Luka shouts. By this time we’re both in tears. I’m sure that at least someone has overheard our conversation. This house may be big, but it’s not that big.

“I would have accepted it! You’re my brother Luka! No matter how much you may act like you have dragon dung in that big brain of yours I’m always going to love you! God, we lost so much time.” I cry shaking my head. I cover my face with my hands trying to stop my tears.

The bed shifts beside me and a pair of arms wrap themselves around me. “I’m so sorry Jamie, so, so sorry. I was stupid. I couldn’t live with myself. I can’t go on in life without my twin beside me. I love you Jame, no matter who you love.” Luka mutters, holding onto me tight.

For the first time in a long time I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. Everything is not all right but it’s much, much better than before.

“I love you too Luka. Don’t do it again.” I croak burying my face into his shoulder. I’m not exactly sure how long we sit like that just enjoying finally being back on the same page together.

We hear the call of Molly downstairs for dinner, and that’s when we finally break apart.

* * *

 

So things started to return to normal around the Burrow, or at least as normal as things would ever be around here. Luka had a long talk with Ariana later that night and they came out of it laughing and joking around like no time had passed at all. In fact Luka had even joined the pair of us on the couch when we were cuddled up together. If that’s not progress then I don’t know what is.

The next day Harry even came around and apologized for the comments he had made the day before. He explained that he’s just been very stressed by all that’s happening at school, and that not knowing what’s going on with Malfoy is driving him nuts. I accepted his apology and told him that those reasons don’t and won’t excuse his behavior again next time.

So I slowly become sucked back into Harry’s plans of talking to Arthur about everything we heard the night of the party. Turns out that Harry doesn’t get a chance to talk to Arthur until Christmas Eve night. Arthur has been working very long hours at the Ministry unfortunately.

The Weasleys and their guests are sitting in the living room, which Ginny, Ariana, and I have decorated so lavishly that it is rather like sitting in a paper-chain explosion. Fred, George, Harry, Ron, surprisingly Luka, and I are the only ones who know that the angel on top of the tree is actually a garden gnome that bit Fred on the ankle as he pulled up carrots for Christmas dinner. Stupefied, painted gold, stuffed into a miniature tutu and with small wings glued to its back, it glowers down at us all, the ugliest angel I have ever seen, with a large bald head like a potato and rather hairy feet.

We are all supposed to be listening to a Christmas broadcast by Molly’s favorite singer, Celestina Warbeck, whose voice is warbling out of the large wooden wireless set. Fleur, who seems to find Celestina very dull, is talking so loudly in the corner that a scowling Molly keeps pointing her wand at the volume control, so that Celestina grows louder and louder. Under cover of a particularly jazzy number called “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love,” Fred and George start a game of Exploding Snap with Ginny, Luka, and Ariana. Ron keeps shooting Bill and Fleur covert looks, as though hoping to pick up tips. Meanwhile, Remus Lupin, who is thinner and more ragged-looking than ever, is sitting beside the fire, staring into its depths as though he cannot hear Celestina’s voice.

I am sitting back next to Harry resigned to the fact that I’m his corroborating witness to this news.

 

Oh, come and stir my cauldron,

And if you do it right,

I’ll boil you up some hot strong love

To keep you warm tonight.

 

“We danced to this when we were eighteen!” says Molly, wiping her eyes on her knitting. “Do you remember, Arthur?”

“Mphf?” says Arthur, whose head has been nodding over the satsuma he is peeling. “Oh yes . . . marvelous tune . . .”

With an effort, he sits up a little straighter and looks around at Harry and me, who are sitting next to him.

“Sorry about this,” he says, jerking his head towards the wireless as Celestina breaks into the chorus. “Be over soon.”

“I’ve heard it before.” I smile.

“No problem,” says Harry, grinning. “Has it been busy at the Ministry?”

“Very,” says Arthur. “I wouldn’t mind if we were getting anywhere, but of the three arrests we’ve made in the last couple of months, I doubt that one of them is a genuine Death Eater — only don’t repeat that, Harry, Jamie,” he adds quickly, looking much more awake all of a sudden.

“They’re not still holding Stan Shunpike, are they?” asks Harry.

“I’m afraid so,” says Arthur. “I know Dumbledore’s tried appealing directly to Scrimgeour about Stan. . . . I mean, anybody who has actually interviewed him agrees that he’s about as much a Death Eater as this satsuma . . . but the top levels want to look as though they’re making some progress, and ‘three arrests’ sounds better than ‘three mistaken arrests and releases’ . . . but again, this is all top secret. . . .”

“I won’t say anything,” says Harry. Harry hesitates for a moment, wondering how best to embark on what he wants to say; and I groan as Celestina Warbeck begins a ballad called “You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me.”

“Mr. Weasley, you know what I told you at the station when we were setting off for school?” I cock my head to the side for I don’t know what he asked of him.

“I checked, Harry,” says Arthur at once. “I went and searched the Malfoys’ house. There was nothing, either broken or whole, that shouldn’t have been there.”

“Yeah, I know, I saw in the Prophet that you’d looked . . . but this is something different. . . . Well, something more . . .”

And he tells Arthur everything he, Ariana, and I overheard between Malfoy and Snape. As Harry speaks, I saw Lupin’s head turn a little towards us, taking in every word. When he has finished, there is silence, except for Celestina’s crooning.

 

Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone?

It’s left me for a spell . . .

 

“Has it occurred to you, Harry,” says Arthur, “that Snape was simply pretending — ?”

“Pretending to offer help, so that he could find out what Malfoy’s up to?” says Harry quickly. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that. But how do we know?”

“It isn’t our business to know,” says Lupin unexpectedly. He has turned his back on the fire now and faces Harry and me across Arthur. “It’s Dumbledore’s business. Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us.”

“But,” says Harry, “just say — just say Dumbledore’s wrong about Snape —”

“People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore’s judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus.”

“We should honestly just wait for more evidence before making any more accusations.” I say softly.

“But Dumbledore can make mistakes,” argues Harry. “He says it himself. And you” — he looked Lupin straight in the eye — “do you honestly like Snape?”

“I neither like nor dislike Severus,” says Lupin. “No, Harry, I am speaking the truth,” he adds, as Harry pulls a skeptical expression. “We shall never be bosom friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon.”

“But he ‘accidentally’ let it slip that you’re a werewolf, so you had to leave!” says Harry angrily.

I choose to stay quiet and let Harry work through this.

Lupin shrugs. “The news would have leaked out anyway. We both know he wanted my job, but he could have wreaked much worse damage on me by tampering with the potion. He kept me healthy. I must be grateful.”

“Maybe he didn’t dare mess with the potion with Dumbledore watching him!” says Harry.

“You are determined to hate him, Harry,” says Lupin with a faint smile. “And I understand; with James as your father, with Sirius as your godfather, you have inherited an old prejudice. By all means tell Dumbledore what you have told Arthur and me, but do not expect him to share your view of the matter; do not even expect him to be surprised by what you tell him. It might have been on Dumbledore’s orders that Severus questioned Draco.”

 

. . . and now you’ve torn it quite apart

I’ll thank you to give back my heart!

 

Celestina ends her song on a very long, high-pitched note and loud applause issues out of the wireless, which Molly joins in with enthusiastically.

“Eez eet over?” says Fleur loudly. “Thank goodness, what an ’orrible —”

“Shall we have a nightcap, then?” asks Arthur loudly, leaping to his feet. “Who wants eggnog?”

“What have you been up to lately?” I ask Lupin, as Arthur bustles off to fetch the eggnog, and everybody else stretches and breaks into conversation.

“Oh, I’ve been underground,” says Lupin. “Almost literally. That’s why I haven’t been able to write, Harry; sending letters to you would have been something of a giveaway.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks.

“I’ve been living among my fellows, my equals,” says Lupin. “Werewolves,” he adds, at Harry’s look of incomprehension. Well I was not expecting that. “Nearly all of them are on Voldemort’s side. Dumbledore wanted a spy and here I was . . . ready-made.”

I grimace at the thought of Lupin putting himself in risk like that.

He sounds a little bitter, and perhaps realizes it, for he smiles more warmly as he goes on, “I am not complaining; it is necessary work and who can do it better than I? However, it has been difficult gaining their trust. I bear the unmistakable signs of having tried to live among wizards, you see, whereas they have shunned normal society and live on the margins, stealing — and sometimes killing — to eat.”

“How come they like Voldemort?” I ask.

“They think that, under his rule, they will have a better life,” says Lupin. “And it is hard to argue with Greyback out there. . . .”

“Who’s Greyback?” Harry questions. I shuffle nervously in my seat.

“You haven’t heard of him?” Lupin’s hands close convulsively in his lap. “Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his mission in life to bite and to contaminate as many people as possible; he wants to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. Voldemort has promised him prey in return for his services. Greyback specializes in children. . . . Bite them young, he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards. Voldemort has threatened to unleash him upon people’s sons and daughters; it is a threat that usually produces good results.”

Lupin pauses and then says, “It was Greyback who bit me.” I pale at the new information. To be bitten and changed is hard enough but to have Greyback do it is terrible.

“What?” says Harry, astonished. “When — when you were a kid, you mean?”

“Yes. My father had offended him. I did not know, for a very long time, the identity of the werewolf who had attacked me; I even felt pity for him, thinking that he had had no control, knowing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon, he positions himself close to victims, ensuring that he is near enough to strike. He plans it all. And this is the man Voldemort is using to marshal the werewolves. I cannot pretend that my particular brand of reasoned argument is making much headway against Greyback’s insistence that we werewolves deserve blood, that we ought to revenge ourselves on normal people.”

“But you are normal!” says Harry fiercely. “You’ve just got a — a problem —”

“My hands spontaneously combust into flame whenever I feel angry. I think that you have more control than I do.” I admit sheepishly.

Lupin bursts out laughing. “Sometimes you two remind me a lot of your fathers James and Daniel. James called it my ‘furry little problem’ in company. Many people were under the impression that I owned a badly behaved rabbit.”

He accepts a glass of eggnog from Arthur with a word of thanks, looking slightly more cheerful.

“Have you ever heard of someone called the Half-Blood Prince?” Harry interjects quickly.

“The Half-Blood what?”

“Prince,” says Harry, watching him closely for signs of recognition. I groan mentally. We can’t even leave that blasted book alone for the holiday.

“There are no Wizarding princes,” says Lupin, now smiling. “Is this a title you’re thinking of adopting? I should have thought being ‘the Chosen One’ would be enough.”

I burst into laughter at that, and Harry sends me a dirty look. “Don’t mind me your highness.” I splutter.

“It’s nothing to do with me!” says Harry indignantly. “The Half-Blood Prince is someone who used to go to Hogwarts, I’ve got his old Potions book. He wrote spells all over it, spells he invented. One of them was Levicorpus —”

“Oh, that one had a great vogue during my time at Hogwarts,” says Lupin reminiscently. “There were a few months in my fifth year when you couldn’t move for being hoisted into the air by your ankle.”

“My dad used it,” says Harry. “I saw him in the Pensieve, he used it on Snape.”

“Yes,” Lupin says, “but he wasn’t the only one. As I say, it was very popular. . . . You know how these spells come and go. . . .”

“But it sounds like it was invented while you were at school,” Harry persists.

“Not necessarily,” says Lupin. “Jinxes go in and out of fashion like everything else.”

He looks into Harry’s face and then says quietly, “James was a pureblood, Harry, and I promise you, he never asked us to call him ‘Prince.’”

Abandoning pretense, Harry says, “And it wasn’t Sirius? Or you?”

“Definitely not.”

“Oh.” Harry stares into the fire. “I just thought — well, he’s helped me out a lot in Potions classes, the Prince has.”

“How old is this book, Harry?”

“I dunno, I’ve never checked.”

“You’ve never checked? You’ve been obsessed with the bloody thing ever since you’ve gotten it Harry!” I cry shaking my head at his idiocy sometimes. Hermione really is the brains that hold this group together.

“Well, perhaps that will give you some clue as to when the Prince was at Hogwarts,” says Lupin diplomatically.

Shortly after this, Fleur decides to imitate Celestina singing “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love,” which is taken by everyone, once we have glimpsed Molly’s expression, to be the cue to go to bed.

The room that I share with Ginny is very crowded this holiday. The bed that usually would have been occupied by Hermione is now for Fleur, thankfully she is still downstairs with Molly. Ariana takes the extra bed closest to Ginny’s and my bunk bed at our insistence.

I’m happy being back in my room snuggled under my blanket, listening to the heavy breathing of Ginny below me, and the shifting of Ariana a little further away. This is definitely home. 

* * *

 

The next morning is a flurry of tearing packages open and seeing what everyone had gotten us. I had gotten a box of odd muggle parts from Arthur that supposedly if I figure out how to put it together with make a toaster, whatever that is. I got my traditional sweater from Molly, this one a dark green with a white J sewn into it. Fred and George gave me a giant box of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheeze products. Luka had gotten me an old book on the stories of Merlin attached with a note apologizing again.

The present that really got to me was the one from Ariana. On a thin gold chain lay a small locket. Carefully I pry the locket open. There are two pictures inside. The one on the left is a picture of the two of us when we were younger. We were six when the picture was taken. Kingsley wanted a photo of the two of us together, and drudgingly my six-year-old self gave in. Little Ariana has her arm thrown around me, and we’re rocking back at forth by her excitement.

The picture on the right is more recent. It was taken just this last summer. I had just gotten back from playing Quidditch with Ginny and the boys when she had run up and hugged me. I didn’t know that someone had taken a picture of the moment. We look ridiculously happy in the photo.

I slide off my bunk and landed on the floor with a thump. Ginny looks at me curiously from her bed, but I ignore her and make my way over to my girlfriend. She looks up from the gift in her hand to see me. I plop down on the bed next to her, and throw my arms around her.

“Well good morning to you too.” Ariana says with a chuckle. I give a watery chuckle at that. She doesn’t know how much something like that means to me.

“I love it Ari. Thank you.” I say kissing her tenderly, before hugging her tightly again.

“I love you too Jamie. I haven’t even opened your gift yet.” She says unwrapping one of her arms and grabbing the small parcel at the foot of her bed. I pull away and twiddle my thumbs nervously. I’m not sure how she’s going to like this. Ariana pulls the wrapping off the gift to reveal the book.

The cover reads ‘Against the Odds: A tale of a Dumbledore and a Pendragon’. Ariana smiles at the cover and flips the book open. As she flips through the pages she sees charmed drawings of the two of us through our adventures with Luka when we were younger, to our Hogwarts interactions together. The story went all the way up to the kiss in the hospital wing and our kiss.

“Jamie… I don’t— I don’t know what to say. This is amazing…” Ariana breathes running her fingertips lightly across a page. I feel heat in my cheeks and try not to feel too relieved that my gift went over well.

“I’m glad you like it. I worked a long time on that and I was afraid that you wouldn’t like it.” I say. Ariana looks up from the book at me. She leans forward and kisses me. It’s a lot more heated than the other kisses we’ve had around people before.

“I love it, and you’re so sweet. This is one of the best presents ever.” Ariana smiles happily closing the book.

“Thank Merlin you’re done. Any longer and you two would have looked like Ron and Lavender with the snogging.” Ginny says getting up from her bed with a shiver. I throw a revolted and highly offended look at my sister.

“You take that back! We are nothing like the suckerfish!” I growl leaping up from the bed. Ginny squeaks and runs out of the room with me hot on her tail.

* * *

 

Everybody is wearing new sweaters when we all sit down for Christmas lunch, everyone except Fleur (on whom, it appears, Molly had not wanted to waste one) and Molly herself, who is sporting a brand-new midnight blue witch’s hat glittering with what looks like tiny starlike diamonds, and a spectacular golden necklace.

“Fred and George gave them to me! Aren’t they beautiful?”

“Well, we find we appreciate you more and more, Mum, now we’re washing our own socks,” says George, waving an airy hand. “Parsnips, Remus?”

“Harry, you’ve got a maggot in your hair,” says Ginny cheerfully, leaning across the table to pick it out; I watch as Harry gives a slight shiver.

“Maggots?” I whisper to him.

“Kreacher.” Harry replies, and I nod my head in understanding.

“’Ow ’orrible,” says Fleur, with an affected little shudder.

“Yes, isn’t it?” says Ron. “Gravy, Fleur?”

In his eagerness to help her, he knocks the gravy boat flying; Bill waves his wand and the gravy soars up in the air and returns meekly to the boat.

“You are as bad as zat Tonks,” says Fleur to Ron, when she has finished kissing Bill in thanks. “She is always knocking —”

“I invited dear Tonks to come along today,” says Molly, setting down the carrots with unnecessary force and glaring at Fleur. “But she wouldn’t come. Have you spoken to her lately, Remus?”

“No, I haven’t been in contact with anybody very much,” says Lupin. “But Tonks has got her own family to go to, hasn’t she?”

“Hmmm,” says Molly. “Maybe. I got the impression she was planning to spend Christmas alone, actually.”

She gives Lupin an annoyed look, as though it is all his fault she is getting Fleur for a daughter-in-law instead of Tonks, but I, glancing across at Fleur, who is now feeding Bill bits of turkey off her own fork, think that Molly is fighting a long-lost battle.

“Tonks’s Patronus has changed its form,” Harry says. “Snape said so anyway. I didn’t know that could happen. Why would your Patronus change?”

Lupin takes his time chewing his turkey and swallowing before saying slowly, “Sometimes . . . a great shock . . . an emotional upheaval . . .”

“It looked big, and it had four legs,” says Harry, struck by a sudden thought and lowering his voice. “Hey . . . it couldn’t be — ?”

“Arthur!” says Molly suddenly. She has risen from her chair; her hand is pressed over her heart and she is staring out of the kitchen window. “Arthur — it’s Percy!”

“What?”

It can’t seriously be Percy. We haven’t heard from him in ages. I would know because Molly would either be over the moon or in tears.

Arthur looks around. Everybody looks quickly at the window; Ginny stands up for a better look. There, sure enough, is Percy Weasley, striding across the snowy yard, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting in the sunlight. He is not, however, alone.

“Arthur, he’s — he’s with the Minister!”

And sure enough, the man I had seen in the Daily Prophet is following along in Percy’s wake, limping slightly, his mane of graying hair and his black cloak flecked with snow. Before any of us can say anything, before Arthur and Molly can do more than exchange stunned looks, the back door opens and there stands Percy.

I can’t believe that he just has the audacity to just walk right in after all that he’s put us through, especially Molly and Arthur.

There is a moment’s painful silence. Then Percy says rather stiffly, “Merry Christmas, Mother.”

“Oh, Percy!” says Molly, and she throws herself into his arms.

Rufus Scrimgeour pauses in the doorway, leaning on his walking stick and smiling as he observes this affecting scene.

“You must forgive this intrusion,” he says, when Molly looks around at him, beaming and wiping her eyes. “Percy and I were in the vicinity — working, you know — and he couldn’t resist dropping in and seeing you all.”

But Percy shows no sign of wanting to greet any of the rest of the family. He stands, poker-straight and awkward-looking, and stares over everybody else’s heads. Arthur, Fred, and George are all observing him, stony-faced.

“Please, come in, sit down, Minister!” flutters Molly, straightening her hat. “Have a little purkey, or some tooding. . . . I mean —”

“No, no, my dear Molly,” says Scrimgeour. I guess that he had checked her name with Percy before they entered the house. “I don’t want to intrude, wouldn’t be here at all if Percy hadn’t wanted to see you all so badly. . . .”

“Oh, Perce!” says Molly tearfully, reaching up to kiss him.

“. . . We’ve only looked in for five minutes, so I’ll have a stroll around the yard while you catch up with Percy. No, no, I assure you I don’t want to butt in! Well, if anybody cared to show me your charming garden . . . Ah, that young man’s finished, why doesn’t he take a stroll with me?”

The atmosphere around the table changes perceptibly. Everybody looks from Scrimgeour to Harry. Nobody seems to find Scrimgeour’s pretense that he does not know Harry’s name convincing, or find it natural that he should be chosen to accompany the Minister around the garden when Ginny, Fleur, George, and I also have clean plates.

“Yeah, all right,” says Harry into the silence.

I watch at Harry mutters that he’s fine to Lupin and Arthur and exits the house with him. Now all there is left is all this awkward silence.

I don’t know who exactly started talking/yelling at Percy first, but it was all a mess a few minutes after Harry and the Minister left. Luka, Ariana, and I all stood back and watched the giant Weasley implosion happen. Even though it was our family too, Luka and I didn’t have a strong sense of anger at Percy for everything he’d done. We didn’t really need to get in the middle of all that.

A few minutes later Harry comes back into the house and Percy storms out. Luka turns to me with a worried expression on his face before cracking a small smile.

“Did I tell you what Lavender Brown got Ron for Christmas? A necklace with giant gold letters saying My Sweetheart.” Luka snickers. Ariana and I blink at him for a second before breaking out into laughter. I really needed to hear that.


	13. Birthday Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 13- Birthday Surprises

 

Late in the afternoon, a few days after New Year, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luka, Ariana, and I line up beside the kitchen fire to return to Hogwarts. The Ministry has arranged this one-off connection to the Floo Network to return students quickly and safely to the school. Only Molly is there to say good-bye, as Arthur, Fred, George, Bill, and Fleur are all at work. Molly dissolves into tears at the moment of parting. Admittedly, it takes very little to set her off lately; she has been crying on and off ever since Percy stormed from the house on Christmas Day with his glasses splattered with mashed parsnip (for which Fred, George, and Ginny all claim credit).

“Don’t cry, Mum,” says Ginny, patting her on the back as Molly sobs into her shoulder. “It’s okay. . . .”

“Yeah, don’t worry about us,” says Ron, permitting his mother to plant a very wet kiss on his cheek, “or about Percy. He’s such a prat, it’s not really a loss, is it?”

Molly sobs harder than ever as she enfolds me in her arms.

“Promise me you’ll look after yourself. . . . Stay out of trouble. . . .”

“No worries Molly. Ariana would be right cross with me otherwise. Don’t worry we’ll be back soon.” I tell her hugging the woman. I stand back and watch as she hugs Luka and Ariana, before repeating the same warning to Harry as well.

“I always do, Mrs. Weasley,” says Harry. “I like a quiet life, you know me.”

She gives a watery chuckle and stands back. “Be good, then, all of you. . . .”

I stand there watching as everyone Floos to school. Ginny disappears, and I sigh realizing that its finally my turn to go.

“Sure I have to go?” I ask, causing a watery laugh to come from the woman.

“Swear you’re getting more like Fred and George every day.” She hiccups. I grin at her and grab a bit of the green powder in my hand.

“I’ll take that as a complement then. See ya soon.” I part cheerfully. “Hogwarts!” I say as I throw the soot into the fireplace.

I have one last fleeting view of my kitchen and Molly’s tearful face before the flames engulfed me; spinning very fast, I catch blurred glimpses of other Wizarding rooms, which are whipped out of sight before I can get a proper look; then I am slowing down, finally stopping squarely in the fireplace in Professor McGonagall’s office. She barely glances up from her work as I clamber out over the grate.

“Evening, Pendragon. Try not to get too much ash on the carpet, unlike the rest of them.”

“No, Professor.” I say looking at my friends and family.

All of us troop out of McGonagall’s office Luka and Ariana bidding us farewell as they trudge off to their common rooms, leaving Harry, Ron, Ginny, and I to make our way up to the Gryffindor common room.

I glance out of the corridor windows as we pass; the sun is already sinking over grounds carpeted in deeper snow than had lain over the Burrow garden. In the distance, I can see Hagrid feeding Buckbeak in front of his cabin.

“Baubles,” says Ron confidently, when we reach the Fat Lady, who is looking rather paler than usual and winces at his loud voice.

“No,” she says.

“What d’you mean, ‘no’?”

“There is a new password,” she says. “And please don’t shout.”

“But we’ve been away, how’re we supposed to — ?”

“Harry! Jamie! Ginny!”

Hermione is hurrying towards us, very pink-faced and wearing a cloak, hat, and gloves. I smile at seeing my best friend after the long break.

“I got back a couple of hours ago, I’ve just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck — I mean Witherwings,” she says breathlessly. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“Yeah,” says Ron at once, “pretty eventful, Rufus Scrim —”

“I’ve got something for you, Harry,” says Hermione, neither looking at Ron nor giving any sign that she heard him. “Oh, hang on — password. Abstinence.”

“Precisely,” says the Fat Lady in a feeble voice, and swings forward to reveal the portrait hole.

“What’s up with her?” I ask.

“Overindulged over Christmas, apparently,” says Hermione, rolling her eyes as she leads the way into the packed common room. “She and her friend Violet drank their way through all the wine in that picture of drunk monks down by the Charms corridor. Anyway . . .”

“Sounds eventful.” I mutter under my breath. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or scared by that fact.

She rummages in her pocket for a moment, then pulls out a scroll of parchment with Dumbledore’s writing on it.

“Great,” says Harry, unrolling it at once to discover that his next lesson with Dumbledore is scheduled for the following night. “I’ve got loads to tell him — and you. Let’s sit down —”

But at that moment there is a loud squeal of “Won-Won!” and Lavender Brown comes hurtling out of nowhere and flings herself into Ron’s arms. I have to contain my gagging. Several onlookers snigger; Hermione gives a tinkling laugh and says,  “There’s a table over here. . . . Coming, Ginny?”

“No, thanks, I said I’d meet Dean,” says Ginny, though I cannot help noticing that she does not sound very enthusiastic.

“Gin—” I start, but a fierce glare from my sister cuts me off.

“Don’t Jamie. Just don’t.” She growls out. I wince and pull back from her, allowing her to leave.

Leaving Ron and Lavender locked in a kind of vertical wrestling match, Harry leads Hermione and me over to the spare table.

“So how was your Christmas?” Harry asks her.

“Oh, fine,” she shrugs. “Nothing special. How was it at Won-Won’s?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” says Harry. “Look, Hermione, can’t you — ?”

“No, I can’t,” she says flatly. “So don’t even ask.”

“I thought maybe, you know, over Christmas —”

“It was the Fat Lady who drank a vat of five-hundred-year-old wine, Harry, not me. So what was this important news you wanted to tell me?”

She looks too fierce to argue with at that moment, so Harry drops the subject of Ron and recounts all that we had overheard between Malfoy and Snape. When he had finished, Hermione sat in thought for a moment and then says, “Don’t you think — ?”

“— he was pretending to offer help so that he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he’s doing?” I finish for her.

“Well, yes,” says Hermione.

“Ron and Jamie’s dad and Lupin think so,” Harry says grudgingly. “But this definitely proves Malfoy’s planning something, you can’t deny that.”

“No, I can’t,” she answers slowly.

“And he’s acting on Voldemort’s orders, just like I said!”

“Hmm . . . did either of them actually mention Voldemort’s name?”

Harry frowns, trying to remember. “I’m not sure . . . Snape definitely said ‘your master,’ and who else would that be?”

“Well the voices in his head, his mother, his aunt, his father, stupid Parkinson if she managed to slip him a love potion.” I list off on my fingers, and that actually manages to make both of them crack a smile for a moment.

“I don’t know,” says Hermione, biting her lip. “Jamie might be right with his father?”

She stares across the room, apparently lost in thought, not even noticing Lavender tickling Ron. “How’s Lupin?”

“Not great,” says Harry, and he tells her all about Lupin’s mission among the werewolves and the difficulties he is facing. “Have you heard of this Fenrir Greyback?”

“Yes, I have!” says Hermione, sounding startled. “And so have you, Harry!”

“When, History of Magic? You know full well I never listened . . .”

“No, no, not History of Magic — Malfoy threatened Borgin with him!” says Hermione. “Back in Knockturn Alley, don’t you remember? He told Borgin that Greyback was an old family friend and that he’d be checking up on Borgin’s progress!”

“Then that’s not good. Not at all.” I say feeling a shiver run down my spine. I love Lupin to death, but I have gotten a healthy respect for werewolves in third year. I would hate to run into Greyback.

Harry gapes at her. “I forgot! But this proves Malfoy’s a Death Eater, how else could he be in contact with Greyback and telling him what to do?”

“It is pretty suspicious,” breathes Hermione. “Unless . . .”

“Oh, come on,” says Harry in exasperation, “you can’t get round this one!”

“Well . . . there is the possibility it was an empty threat.”

“You’re unbelievable, you are,” says Harry, shaking his head. “We’ll see who’s right. . . . You’ll be eating your words, Hermione, just like the Ministry. Oh yeah, I had a row with Rufus Scrimgeour as well. . . .”

And the rest of the evening passes amicably with the three of us abusing the Minister of Magic, for Hermione, like Ron, thought that after all the Ministry had put Harry through the previous year, they had a great deal of nerve asking him for help now.

The new term starts next morning with a pleasant surprise for the sixth years: a large sign has been pinned to the common room notice boards overnight.

 

APPARITION LESSONS

If you are seventeen years of age, or will turn seventeen on or before the 31st August next, you are eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor. Please sign below if you would like to participate. Cost: 12 Galleons.

 

Hermione passed me her quill so that I could use it after her to sign up for the lessons. This was probably the most exciting course Hogwarts was offering this year in my opinion. After this I will have all of the qualifications of a full witch minus the degree.

I sign my name under Hermione’s quickly before I’m bumped out of the way by Ron. He doesn’t get very far though for Lavender has crept up behind Ron, and thrown her hands in front of his eyes.

“Guess who, Won-Won?” She trills.

“The bearer of all things sickening.” I respond, scampering after Hermione before Lavender can attempt to disembowel me. Harry is hot on my heels. I guess that he doesn’t feel like being around them anymore than I do.

Surprisingly Ron catches up with us only a little way beyond the portrait hole, his ears bright red and his expression disgruntled. Without a word, Hermione speeds up to walk with Neville.

“So — Apparition,” says Ron, his tone making it perfectly plain that Harry and I are not to mention what just happened. “Should be a laugh, eh?”

“I dunno,” says Harry. “Maybe it’s better when you do it yourself, I didn’t enjoy it much when Dumbledore took me along for the ride.”

“I hope so.” I grumble thinking of the same memory as Harry.

“I forgot you two already done it. . . . I’d better pass my test first time,” says Ron, looking anxious. “Fred and George did.”

“Not everything is a competition with them.” I remind him.

“Try telling them that.” Ron says flatly. I shake my head. I have seven brothers, but it still boggles my mind sometimes the amount of competition that’s between them.

“Charlie failed, though, didn’t he?” Harry says.

“Yeah, but Charlie’s bigger than me” — Ron holds his arms out from his body as though he is a gorilla — “so Fred and George didn’t go on about it much . . . not to his face anyway . . .”

“When can we take the actual test?” Harry asks.

“Soon as we’re seventeen. That’s only March for me!” Ron grins.

“As soon as I get the practice in I’ll be good to go.” I say with a grin. Ron glares at me and gives me a shove, which I return.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t be able to Apparate in here, not in the castle . . .” Harry shrugs.

“Not the point, is it? Everyone would know I could Apparate if I wanted.”

Ron and I are not the only ones to be excited at the prospect of Apparition. All that day there is much talk about the forthcoming lessons; a great deal of store is set by being able to vanish and reappear at will. I mean why wouldn’t there, it’s awesome!

“How cool will it be when we can just —” Seamus clicks his fingers to indicate disappearance. “Me cousin Fergus does it just to annoy me, you wait till I can do it back . . . He’ll never have another peaceful moment. . . .”

Lost in visions of this happy prospect, he flicks his wand a little too enthusiastically, so that instead of producing the fountain of pure water that is the object of today’s Charms lesson, he lets out a hoselike jet that ricochets off the ceiling and knocks Professor Flitwick flat on his face.

I wince trying to contain my laughter and not jerk my hand ruining my fountain.

“Harry and Jamie’s already Apparated,” Ron tells a slightly abashed Seamus, after Professor Flitwick has dried himself off with a wave of his wand and sets Seamus lines: “I am a wizard, not a baboon brandishing a stick.” “Dum — er — someone took him. Side-Along-Apparition, you know.”

“Whoa!” whispers Seamus, and he, Dean, and Neville put their heads a little closer to hear what Apparition feels like. For the rest of the day, Harry and I are besieged with requests from the other sixth years to describe the sensation of Apparition. Not that I have much patience for the countless people.

Halfway through the day I threatened to hex the lot of them if they didn’t get out of my space and let me breathe. Luckily for them Ariana had wandered over from the Hufflepuff table to see what was the matter, and calm me down. That didn’t make my glare any less threatening though.

That means that when Harry finally manages to slip out of their clutches at eight for his appointment with Dumbledore that the masses are finally out of information to pump.

I spend the rest of that night in the common room keeping Hermione company while she’s feverishly scratching at her homework. I happily hum to myself as I carefully work on putting together the model muggle car that Hermione had gotten me for Christmas. We had quite the argument over the naming of the car as a ‘sports’ car for there was nothing to do with sports on it.

I think it simple enough to say that Hermione gave up on me after about ten minutes of trying to explain the concept to me.

* * *

The next day Harry confides in Ron, Hermione, and me the task that Dumbledore has set him, though separately, for Hermione still refuses to remain in Ron’s presence longer than it takes to give him a contemptuous look. That means that I’m stuck along for both confrontations. Personally I don’t look forward for Harry having to deal with Slughorn.

Ron thinks that Harry is unlikely to have any trouble with Slughorn at all.

“He loves you,” he says over breakfast, waving an airy forkful of fried egg. “Won’t refuse you anything, will he? Not his little Potions Prince. Just hang back after class this afternoon and ask him.”

Hermione, however, takes a gloomier view. “He must be determined to hide what really happened if Dumbledore couldn’t get it out of him,” she says in a low voice, as we stand in the deserted, snowy courtyard at break. “Horcruxes . . . Horcruxes  . . . I’ve never even heard of them. . . .”

“You haven’t?” Harry is disappointed and I’m shocked. I was sure that Hermione would have known what Horcruxes were.

“They must be really advanced Dark Magic, or why would Voldemort have wanted to know about them? I think it’s going to be difficult to get the information, Harry, you’ll have to be very careful about how you approach Slughorn, think out a strategy. . . .”

“Ron reckons I should just hang back after Potions this afternoon. . . .”

“Oh, well, if Won-Won thinks that, you’d better do it,” she says, flaring up at once. “After all, when has Won-Won’s judgment ever been faulty?”

“Hermione, can’t you — ?”

“No!” she says angrily, and storms away, leaving Harry and me alone and ankle-deep in snow.

“So what do you think Jamie? You’ve been pretty quiet about all this.” Harry says turning to me now that we’re alone. I raise my eyebrow at that. Usually Harry doesn’t take my advice when it comes to these things.

“Well I sort of agree with both of them. If you let Ron know that I actually agreed with him, I’ll hex you quicker than Ginny I swear Potter!” I threaten. Harry chuckles and holds his hands up.

“Slughorn obviously doesn’t want anyone to know what he told Riddle that night. That means that it was something really bad, and it more than likely helped Voldemort come to power. If that’s not something to feel guilty about than I’m not sure what is. He does seem to like you though Harry. I would be careful going about asking him.” I tell him.

Harry nods his head, and I can tell that he’s thinking really hard about this.

“Don’t worry Potter, I’ll always be on your side. Unlike some people I can manage to swallow my differences long enough to work with people.” I state.

“Says the girl whose hands erupt in blue flames when she’s pissed.” Harry chuckles. I give him an insulted look and glare after the prat as he starts running away. I scoop up some snow in my hand and send it flying after him, satisfied when the snowball hits its target.

Potions lessons are uncomfortable enough these days, seeing as Harry, Ron, and Hermione have to share a desk. Today, Hermione moves her cauldron around the table so that she is close to Ernie, and ignores both Harry and Ron. I just sigh and scoot closer to Ariana, not totally ready to deal with more drama today.

“What’ve you done?” Ron mutters to Harry, looking at Hermione’s haughty profile.

But before Harry can answer, Slughorn is calling for silence from the front of the room.

“Settle down, settle down, please! Quickly, now, lots of work to get through this afternoon! Golpalott’s Third Law . . . who can tell me — ? But Miss Granger can, of course!”

Hermione recites at top speed: “Golpalott’s-Third-Law-states-that-the-antidote-for-a-blended-poison-will-be-equal-to-more-than-the-sum-of-the-antidotes-for-each-of-the-separate-components.”

“Precisely!” beams Slughorn. “Ten points for Gryffindor! Now, if we accept Golpalott’s Third Law as true . . .”

I am going to have to take Slughorn’s word for it that Golpalott’s Third Law is true, because I do not understood any of it. Nobody apart from Hermione seems to be following what Slughorn says next either.

“. . . which means, of course, that assuming we have achieved correct identification of the potion’s ingredients by Scarpin’s Revelaspell, our primary aim is not the relatively simple one of selecting antidotes to those ingredients in and of themselves, but to find that added component that will, by an almost alchemical process, transform these disparate elements —”

Ron is sitting beside Harry with his mouth half open, doodling absently on his new copy of Advanced Potion-Making. Ron keeps forgetting that he can no longer rely on Hermione to help him out of trouble when he fails to grasp what is going on.

I decided that I would give it a valiant effort, and that was about the best that I could hope for in the given situation. Ariana was a little better in Potions than me so I would hopefully get some help from her since Hermione does not look to be in a sharing mood today.

“. . . and so,” finishes Slughorn, “I want each of you to come and take one of these phials from my desk. You are to create an antidote for the poison within it before the end of the lesson. Good luck, and don’t forget your protective gloves!”

Hermione has left her stool and is halfway towards Slughorn’s desk before the rest of the class has realized it is time to move, and by the time Harry, Ron, Ernie, Ariana, and I return to the table, she has already tipped the contents of her phial into her cauldron and is kindling a fire underneath it.

“It’s a shame that the Prince won’t be able to help you much with this, Harry,” she says brightly as she straightens up. “You have to understand the principles involved this time. No shortcuts or cheats!”

I watched as my friends were downtrodden realizing that Hermione was indeed right about there being no instructions from the Prince. I just focused my attention on trying to follow instructions and use my knowledge to the best of my ability. It wasn’t right, but it didn’t smell as ghastly as whatever was coming out of Ron’s cauldron.

I watched as Harry frantically dashed across the room to the supply closet when Slughorn called for two minutes left for our potions. I looked down at my potion and gave a small defeated shrug. It isn’t done, but it will do for now.

Harry made it back to the table just in time.

“Time’s . . . UP!” calls Slughorn genially. “Well, let’s see how you’ve done! Blaise . . . what have you got for me?”

Slowly, Slughorn moves around the room, examining the various antidotes. Nobody has finished the task, although Hermione is trying to cram a few more ingredients into her bottle before Slughorn reaches her while Ariana shakes her head. Ron has given up completely, and is merely trying to avoid breathing in the putrid fumes issuing from his cauldron. I merely stand back from my potion not particularly caring about the grade being issued from it. Harry is the one that looks nervous here now.

Slughorn reaches our table last. He sniffs Ernie’s potion and passes on to Ron’s with a grimace. He does not linger over Ron’s cauldron, but backs away swiftly, retching slightly. He merely raises an eyebrow at Ariana’s and mine before moving on.

“And you, Harry,” he says. “What have you got to show me?”

Harry holds out his hand, a dried kidney shaped object sitting on his palm.

Slughorn looks down at it for a full ten seconds. Then he throws back his head and roars with laughter.

“You’ve got nerve, boy!” he booms, taking the object and holding it up so that the class can see it. “Oh, you’re like your mother. . . . Well, I can’t fault you. . . . A bezoar would certainly act as an antidote to all these potions!”

Hermione, who is sweaty-faced and has soot on her nose, looks livid. Her half-finished antidote, comprising fifty-two ingredients, including a chunk of her own hair, bubbles sluggishly behind Slughorn, who has eyes for nobody but Harry.

“And you thought of a bezoar all by yourself, did you, Harry?” she asks through gritted teeth. Here we go again. Remind me why I came back here after Christmas?

“That’s the individual spirit a real potion-maker needs!” says Slughorn happily, before Harry can reply. “Just like his mother, she had the same intuitive grasp of potion-making, it’s undoubtedly from Lily he gets it. . . . Yes, Harry, yes, if you’ve got a bezoar to hand, of course that would do the trick . . . although as they don’t work on everything, and are pretty rare, it’s still worth knowing how to mix antidotes. . . .”

The only person in the room looking angrier than Hermione is Malfoy (a hard feat to do), who, I am pleased to see, spilled something that looks like cat-sick over himself. Before either of them could express their fury that Harry has come top of the class by not doing any work, however, the bell rings.

“Time to pack up!” says Slughorn. “And an extra ten points to Gryffindor for sheer cheek!”

Still chuckling, he waddles back to his desk at the front of the dungeon.

“I am so happy that lesson is over.” I breathe, finally able to relax after a tense class period.

“I must admit that potion making is not my favorite activity.” Ariana says genuinely beside me.

“Why Miss Dumbledore, you’re not suggesting that you actually dislike a class are you?” I say with mock shock. My girlfriend rolls her eyes at me before bumping me in the shoulder.

“Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you anymore Pendragon.” Ariana says, but she’s smiling.

We split ways after that class, going back to our common rooms. Harry hangs back to talk to Slughorn. Both Ron and Hermione and in rather cross moods, so I can tell that this isn’t going to be a good conversation.

As expected when Harry comes back dejected, and in need of support for his strikeout with Slughorn both Ron and Hermione are less than sympathetic.

Hermione is still seething at the way Harry triumphed without doing the work properly. Ron is resentful that Harry didn’t slip him a bezoar too.

“It would’ve just looked stupid if we’d both done it!” says Harry irritably. “Look, I had to try and soften him up so I could ask him about Voldemort, didn’t I? Oh, will you get a grip!” he adds in exasperation, as Ron winces at the sound of the name.

“Harry—” I try.

“Don’t Jamie. I need to be alone…” With that Harry disappears, and I let out a long sigh. Is it just me or as the older we get the worse our moods and fighting become?

Infuriated by his failure and by Ron’s and Hermione’s attitudes, Harry broods for the next few days over what to do next about Slughorn (all while brushing off my attempts to help). He decides that, for the time being, he will let Slughorn think that he has forgotten all about Horcruxes; it is surely best to lull him into a false sense of security before returning to the attack.

I on the other hand have been getting really tired of Harry’s attitude all the time, and find myself venting to my brother and Ariana, about how mental all my friends have seem to become recently. Ariana just shook her head and told me that this was all a part of growing up.

When Harry did not question Slughorn again, the Potions master reverts to his usual affectionate treatment of him, and appears to have put the matter from his mind. Harry awaits an invitation to one of his little evening parties, determined to accept this time, even if he has to reschedule Quidditch practice (sadly in my thought). Unfortunately, however, no such invitation arrives. Harry checks with Hermione, Ginny, and me: none of us have received an invitation and nor, as far as I know, has anybody else. This of course puts Harry in a worse mood than before.

Meanwhile, the Hogwarts library has failed Hermione for the first time in living memory. She is so shocked; she even forgets that she is annoyed at Harry for his trick with the bezoar.

“I haven’t found one single explanation of what Horcruxes do!” she tells us. “Not a single one! I’ve been right through the restricted section and even in the most horrible books, where they tell you how to brew the most gruesome potions — nothing! All I could find was this, in the introduction to Magick Moste Evile — listen — ‘Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction. . . .’ I mean, why mention it then?” she says impatiently, slamming the old book shut; it let out a ghostly wail. “Oh, shut up,” she snaps, stuffing it back into her bag.

“I don’t know Hermione. Yelling at us won’t make the outcome any different.” I point out. I had already had to sit through a half hour of agitated ranting and raving before having Harry show up. All my efforts get me is a dirty glare from Hermione.

The snow melts around the school as February arrives, replaced by cold, dreary wetness. Purplish-gray clouds hang low over the castle and a constant fall of chilly rain makes the lawns slippery and muddy. The upshot of this is that the sixth years’ first Apparition lesson, which is scheduled for a Saturday morning so that no normal lessons will be missed, takes place in the Great Hall instead of in the grounds.

When Harry, Hermione, and I arrive in the Hall (Ron has come down with Lavender), we find that the tables have disappeared. Rain lashes against the high windows and the enchanted ceiling swirl darkly above us as we assemble in front of Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout — the Heads of Houses — and a small wizard whom I take to be the Apparition instructor from the Ministry. He is oddly colorless, with transparent eyelashes, wispy hair, and an insubstantial air, as though a single gust of wind might blow him away. I wonder whether constant disappearances and reappearances have somehow diminished his substance, or whether this frail build is ideal for anyone wishing to vanish.

Ariana and Luka make their way over to us, so that we can all be near each other for the lesson.

“Good morning,” says the Ministry wizard, when all the students have arrived and the Heads of Houses have called for quiet. “My name is Wilkie Twycross and I shall be your Ministry Apparition instructor for the next twelve weeks. I hope to be able to prepare you for your Apparition Tests in this time —”

“Malfoy, be quiet and pay attention!” barks Professor McGonagall.

Everybody looks around. Malfoy has flushed a dull pink; he looks furious as he steps away from Crabbe, with whom he appeared to have been having a whispered argument. I glance quickly at Snape, who also looks annoyed, though I strongly suspect that this is less because of Malfoy’s rudeness than the fact that McGonagall reprimanded one of his House.

“— by which time, many of you may be ready to take your tests,” Twycross continued, as though there had been no interruption.

“As you may know, it is usually impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts. The headmaster has lifted this enchantment, purely within the Great Hall, for one hour, so as to enable you to practice. May I emphasize that you will not be able to Apparate outside the walls of this Hall, and that you would be unwise to try.

“I would like each of you to place yourselves now so that you have a clear five feet of space in front of you.”

There is a great scrambling and jostling as people separate, bang into each other, and order others out of their space. The Heads of Houses move among the students, marshaling them into position and breaking up arguments.

“Harry, where are you going?” demands Hermione. I glance after the boy and see that there’s a determined fire burning in his eyes. I heave a sigh, shooting a quick apologetic glance at Ariana.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get in trouble.” I say, before hurrying to catch up with my friend. He really needs to learn how to be subtle in his dislike/prejudices of people.

I push past the place where Professor Flitwick is making squeaky attempts to position a few Ravenclaws, all of whom want to be near the front, past Professor Sprout, who is chivying the Hufflepuffs into line, until, by dodging around Ernie Macmillan, I managed to catch Harry and position myself right at the back of the crowd, directly behind Malfoy (unsurprisingly), who is taking advantage of the general upheaval to continue his argument with Crabbe, standing five feet away and looking mutinous.

“I don’t know how much longer, all right?” Malfoy shoots at him, oblivious to Harry and me standing right behind him. “It’s taking longer than I thought it would.”

Crabbe opens his mouth, but Malfoy appears to second-guess what he is going to say. “Look, it’s none of your business what I’m doing, Crabbe, you and Goyle just do as you’re told and keep a lookout!”

Well that’s certainly odd. I glance at Harry, and I can practically hear the gears in his head churning.

“I tell my friends what I’m up to, if I want them to keep a lookout for me,” Harry says, just loud enough for Malfoy to hear him.

Malfoy spins around on the spot, his hand flying to his wand, but at that precise moment the four Heads of House shout, “Quiet!” and silence falls again. I move back into my place, for I had taken a half step closer to Harry in order to protect him if need be. In my mind Harry’s safety is more important than mine ever would be now. Malfoy turns slowly to face the front again.

“Thank you,” says Twycross. “Now then . . .”

He waves his wand. Old-fashioned wooden hoops instantly appear on the floor in front of every student.

“The important things to remember when Apparating are the three D’s!” says Twycross. “Destination, Determination, Deliberation!

“Step one: Fix your mind firmly upon the desired destination,” says Twycross. “In this case, the interior of your hoop. Kindly concentrate upon that destination now.”

Everyone looks around furtively to check that everyone else is staring into their hoop, then hastily does as they are told. I gaze at the circular patch of dusty floor enclosed by my hoop and try hard to think of nothing else. Its hard to do for I’m worried about Harry and whether or not he’s going to just straight up tackle Malfoy or not. He’s been on edge lately, so I wouldn’t put anything past him at the moment.

“Step two,” says Twycross, “focus your determination to occupy the visualized space! Let your yearning to enter it flood from your mind to every particle of your body!”

I glance around surreptitiously. A little way to my left, Ernie Macmillan is contemplating his hoop so hard that his face has turned pink; it looks as though he is straining to lay a Quaffle-sized egg. I bite back a laugh and hastily return my gaze to my own hoop.

“Step three,” calls Twycross, “and only when I give the command . . . Turn on the spot, feeling your way into nothingness, moving with deliberation! On my command, now . . . one —”

I glance around again; lots of people are looking positively alarmed at being asked to Apparate so quickly.

“— two —”

I try to fix my thoughts on my hoop again.

“— THREE!”

I turn, and my world spins around me. I stagger and catch myself not at all looking forward to trying this again.

I’m not the only one to have problems. The whole Hall is suddenly full of staggering people; Neville is flat on his back; Ernie Macmillan, on the other hand, did a kind of pirouetting leap into his hoop and looks momentarily thrilled, until he catches sight of Dean Thomas roaring with laughter at him.

“Never mind, never mind,” says Twycross dryly, who does not seem to have expected anything better. “Adjust your hoops, please, and back to your original positions. . . .”

The second attempt is no better than the first. The third is just as bad. Not until the fourth does anything exciting happen. There is a horrible screech of pain and everyone looks around, terrified, to see Susan Bones of Hufflepuff wobbling in her hoop with her left leg still standing five feet away where she started. I glance at Ariana and sees her face pale with worry, she doesn’t get very far to her friend.

The Heads of House converge on her; there is a great bang and a puff of purple smoke, which clears to reveal Susan sobbing, reunited with her leg but looking horrified. I would be too. This is why Apparating is not one of my favorite things in which to do, despite the easiness it would bring.

“Splinching, or the separation of random body parts,” says Wilkie Twycross dispassionately, “occurs when the mind is insufficiently determined. You must concentrate continuously upon your destination, and move, without haste, but with deliberation  . . . thus.”

Twycross steps forward, turns gracefully on the spot with his arms outstretched, and vanishes in a swirl of robes, reappearing at the back of the Hall.

“Remember the three D’s,” he says, “and try again . . . one — two — three —”

I’m beginning to get irritated with this guy. Its not as easy as he’s making it out to be, not at all.

But an hour later, Susan’s Splinching is still the most interesting thing that had happened. Twycross does not seem discouraged. Fastening his cloak at his neck, he merely says, “Until next Saturday, everybody, and do not forget: Destination. Determination. Deliberation.”

With that, he waves his wand, Vanishing the hoops, and walks out of the Hall accompanied by Professor McGonagall. Talk breaks out at once as people begin moving towards the entrance hall.

“How did you do?” asks Ron, hurrying towards Harry and me. “I think I felt something the last time I tried — a kind of tingling in my feet.”

“I expect your trainers are too small, Won-Won,” says a voice behind us, and Hermione stalks past, smirking. I have to stifle the grin the pops up at the comment based on the deathly glare Ron’s giving Hermione.

“I didn’t feel anything,” says Harry, ignoring this interruption. “But I don’t care about that now —”

“What d’you mean, you don’t care? Don’t you want to learn to Apparate?” says Ron incredulously.

“I’m not fussed, really, I prefer flying,” says Harry, glancing over his shoulder to see where Malfoy is, and speeding up as we come into the entrance hall. “Look, hurry up, will you, there’s something I want to do. . . .”

Perplexed, Ron and I follow Harry back to the Gryffindor Tower at a run. Ron and I manage to discuss which one of us did better in our practice than the other on the way (there is always time for sibling rivalry). We are temporarily detained by Peeves, who has jammed a door on the fourth floor shut and is refusing to let anyone pass until they set fire to their own pants, but Harry, Ron, and I simply turn back and take one of our trusted shortcuts. Within five minutes, we are climbing through the portrait hole.

I follow behind the guys my curiosity getting the better of me. I promised myself that I’d stick to Harry’s side and that unfortunately means going head first into any hair brained plans of his.

“Are you going to tell us what we’re doing, then?” asks Ron, panting slightly.

“Up here,” says Harry, and he crosses the common room and leads the way through the door to the boys’ staircase— not somewhere that I really ever wanted to go again.

Their dormitory is empty, but unbelievably messy as well.

“Molly would kill you if she saw this.” I murmur under my breath, carefully stepping around a dirty sock that looks so ripe, it’s standing on its own. Harry flings open his trunk and begins to rummage in it, while Ron watches impatiently.

“Harry . . .” I say.

“Malfoy’s using Crabbe and Goyle as lookouts. He was arguing with Crabbe just now. I want to know — aha.”

He found it, a folded square of apparently blank parchment, which he now smooths out and taps with the tip of his wand.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good . . . or Malfoy is anyway.” Harry incants.

At once, the Marauder’s Map appears on the parchment’s surface. Here is a detailed plan of every one of the castle’s floors and, moving around it, the tiny, labeled black dots that signify each of the castle’s occupants.

“Help me find Malfoy,” says Harry urgently.

He lays the map upon his bed, and he, Ron, and I lean over it, searching.

“There!” says Ron, after a minute or so. “He’s in the Slytherin common room, look . . . with Parkinson and Zabini and Crabbe and Goyle . . .”

Harry looks down at the map, disappointed, but rallies almost at once.

“Well, I’m keeping an eye on him from now on,” he says firmly. “And the moment I see him lurking somewhere with Crabbe and Goyle keeping watch outside, it’ll be on with the old Invisibility Cloak and off to find out what he’s —”

He breaks off as Neville enters the dormitory, bringing with him a strong smell of singed material, and begins rummaging in his trunk for a fresh pair of pants. He yelps when he turns around and sees me. Quickly I slap a hand over my eyes.

“Jamie!” Neville cries mortified.

“I’m gone! Never again, there are some things that a girl is just not supposed to see!” I shiver, and blindly make my way out of the room, and quickly dash down the stairs to the safety of the common room.

“And what exactly is going on with you?” Ginny asks quirking an eyebrow at me. I glance over at my sister, watching as she shoves aside the book on her lap to give me her full attention.

“I just don’t get it. I have been trying for years to see what other girls find so fascinating about boys, but it still alludes me, the most it does is scar me.” I shiver slumping down onto the couch next to her.

“Well Jamie, there are some uses for them…” She trials off, and immediately I’m up off the couch again.

“Okay! Do not need to be hearing that from you!” I cry, quickly retreating to the girls’ dorm to the laughter of Ginny.

* * *

 

Despite his determination to catch Malfoy out, Harry has no luck at all over the next couple of weeks. Although he consults the map as often as he can, sometimes making unnecessary visits to the bathroom between lessons to search it, he does not once see Malfoy anywhere suspicious. This whole plot has become completely obsessive of his. I tried to take away the map from him one break, and he almost bit my arm off, he was so possessive.

Admittedly, he spots Crabbe and Goyle moving around the castle on their own more often than usual, sometimes remaining stationary in deserted corridors, but at these times Malfoy is not only nowhere near them, but impossible to locate on the map at all. This is most mysterious. Harry toyed with the possibility that Malfoy is actually leaving the school grounds, but I could not see how he could be doing it, given the very high level of security now operating within the castle so I shut that theory down for him.

We can only suppose that we are missing Malfoy amongst the hundreds of tiny black dots upon the map. As for the fact that Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle appear to be going their different ways when they are usually inseparable, these things happened as people got older — Ron and Hermione, Harry and I reflect sadly, are living proof.

February moves towards March with no change in the weather except that it becomes windy as well as wet. To general indignation, a sign goes up on all common room notice boards that the next trip into Hogsmeade has been canceled. Ron is furious.

“It was on my birthday!” he says. “I was looking forward to that!”

“They’ll probably be another… maybe.” I comment trying to appease him.

“Not a big surprise, though, is it?” says Harry. “Not after what happened to Katie.”

She has still not returned from St. Mungo’s. What is more, further disappearances have been reported in the Daily Prophet, including several relatives of students at Hogwarts.

“But now all I’ve got to look forward to is stupid Apparition!” says Ron grumpily. “Big birthday treat . . .”

“Oh quit your whining. I didn’t get to do anything special on my birthday, neither did Luka.” I say crossly, getting tired of his whining already.

Three lessons on, Apparition is proving as difficult as ever, though a few more people have managed to Splinch themselves. Frustration is running high and there is a certain amount of ill-feeling toward Wilkie Twycross and his three D’s, which have inspired a number of nicknames for him, the politest of which are Dogbreath and Dunghead.

The first of March rolls around and with it Ron’s birthday. I hope that he liked the charmed drawing that I gave him. It was a few sketched scenes of Ron in his Keeper’s kit saving goals at the hoops. Hermione had disappeared before I got up this morning for this third time this week, and it was really starting to get on my nerves.

Its hard enough having to balance Harry and the two of them, when Hermione goes out of her way to pull a disappearing act on me. So instead now I’m waiting for Harry and Ron to come down from their dorm, so that we can go and get breakfast. Unfortunately this puts me in the same boat as Lavender.

We stand near each other in icy silence. She would just not shut up last night, so I ended the discussion by declaring rather loudly that her hair looked like rats were nesting in it. Luckily we’re not made to sit in tortured silence any longer for Harry comes quickly careening down the stairs with Ron on his heels.

“You’re late, Won-Won!” Lavender pouts. “I’ve got you a birthday —”

“Leave me alone,” says Ron impatiently. “Harry’s going to introduce me to Romilda Vane.”

And without another word to her, he pushes his way out of the portrait hole. Okay I don’t know what in Merlin’s beard just happened, but it was priceless. Harry tries to make an apologetic face to Lavender, but it looked amused, because she looks more offended than ever as the Fat Lady swings shut behind us.

“Harry what the bloody hell is going on here?” I demand, following alongside him and Ron, trying to wrap my head around what I’m seeing. Ron has a slightly glassy look in his eyes, and he keeps muttering about Romilda Vane under his breath. I originally thought that he said that just to mess with Lavender, but now I’m starting to get worried.

“Romilda Vane gave me chocolate cauldrons for Christmas, and she spiked them with a love potion. I had them in my trunk, but I threw them out this morning. Ron thought they were for him, and he ate some.” Harry explains quietly, looking at Ron warily.

Okay this is definitely more entertaining than breakfast. “Why didn’t you get rid of them?” I hiss, as we turn down another corridor.

“Because I forgot about them! I’ve had other things on my mind Jamie incase you didn’t know.” Harry lobs back. I roll my eyes at that.

“Yeah like having a creepy stalker obsession with Malfoy.” I mutter. Harry glares at me, but before he can do anything else we’re arrived at Slughorn’s door.

“Seriously?” I hiss. Harry rolls his eyes at me, and knocks on the door. I quickly lunge at Ron, and grab his arm before he wanders off further down the hall. He might be insufferable half the time, but Molly would kill me if I let anything bad happen to him. I prefer to keep all my limbs in tact thank you very much.

Slughorn answers his office door at the first knock, wearing a green velvet dressing gown and matching nightcap and looking rather bleary-eyed.

“Harry,” he mumbles. “This is very early for a call. . . . I generally sleep late on a Saturday. . . .”

“Professor, I’m really sorry to disturb you,” says Harry as quietly as possible, while Ron stands on tiptoe, attempting to see past Slughorn into his room while I hold him back, “but my friend Ron’s swallowed a love potion by mistake. You couldn’t make him an antidote, could you? I’d take him to Madam Pomfrey, but we’re not supposed to have anything from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and, you know . . . awkward questions . . .”

“I’d have thought you could have whipped him up a remedy, Harry, an expert potioneer like you?” asks Slughorn.

“Er,” says Harry, “well, I’ve never mixed an antidote for a love potion, sir, and by the time I get it right, Ron might’ve done something serious —”

“By that he means made multiple unwanted advances on a girl, which may or may not lead to physical pain for him.” I helpfully supply, Slughorn’s eyes light on me for a second before flickering to Ron.

Helpfully, Ron chooses this moment to moan, “I can’t see her, Harry — is he hiding her?”

“Was this potion within date?” asks Slughorn, now eyeing Ron with professional interest. “They can strengthen, you know, the longer they’re kept.”

“That would explain a lot,” pants Harry, now positively wrestling Ron with me to keep him from knocking Slughorn over. “It’s his birthday, Professor,” he adds imploringly.

“Oh, all right, come in, then, come in,” says Slughorn, relenting. “I’ve got the necessary here in my bag, it’s not a difficult antidote. . . .”

Ron bursts through the door into Slughorn’s overheated, crowded study, trips over a tasseled footstool, regains his balance by seizing Harry around the neck, and mutters, “She didn’t see that, did she?”

“She’s not here yet,” says Harry, watching Slughorn opening his potion kit and adding a few pinches of this and that to a small crystal bottle.

“That’s good,” says Ron fervently. “How do I look?”

“Spellbound.” I chuckle under my breath.

“Very handsome,” says Slughorn smoothly, handing Ron a glass of clear liquid. “Now drink that up, it’s a tonic for the nerves, keep you calm when she arrives, you know.”

“Brilliant,” says Ron eagerly, and he gulps the antidote down noisily.

Harry, Slughorn, and I watch him. For a moment, Ron beams at us. Then, very slowly, his grin sags and vanishes, replaced by an expression of utmost horror.

“Back to normal, then?” says Harry, grinning. Slughorn chuckles. “Thanks a lot, Professor.”

I make my way over to my brother and rub his arm gently. He looks too depressed now, not to feel bad for him in this situation.

“Don’t mention it, m’boy, don’t mention it,” says Slughorn, as Ron collapses into a nearby armchair, looking devastated. I kneel down next to it, attempting to calm him, and cheer him up. “Pick-me-up, that’s what he needs,” Slughorn continues, now bustling over to a table loaded with drinks. “I’ve got butterbeer, I’ve got wine, I’ve got one last bottle of this oak-matured mead . . . hmm . . . meant to give that to Dumbledore for Christmas . . . ah, well . . .” He shrugs. “He can’t miss what he’s never had! Why don’t we open it now and celebrate Mr. Weasley’s birthday? Nothing like a fine spirit to chase away the pangs of disappointed love. . . .”

I glance at Harry and see him eyeing up the professor calculatingly. I guess that he’s going to try and pump Slughorn for information again.

“There you are then,” says Slughorn, handing Harry, Ron, and me a glass of mead before raising his own. “Well, a very happy birthday, Ralph —”

“Ron —” whispers Harry.

But Ron, who does not appear to be listening to the toast, has already thrown the mead into his mouth and swallowed it.

There is one second, hardly more than a heartbeat, in which I know there is something terribly wrong and Slughorn, it seems, does not.

“— and may you have many more —”

“Ron!” I cry.

Ron has dropped his glass; he half-rises from his chair and then crumples, his extremities jerking uncontrollably. I drop to my knees beside him, and carefully hold his head. Foam is dribbling from his mouth, and his eyes are bulging from their sockets.

“Professor!” Harry bellows. “Do something!”

But Slughorn seems paralyzed by shock. Ron twitches and chokes: His skin is turning blue.

“What — but —” splutters Slughorn.

Harry jumps up and over to Slughorn’s potion cabinet. I meanwhile struggle to hold onto my brother’s head, not wanting him to hurt himself more than he already is. Hisjerking limbs catch me every once in a while, but the quick sting of pain hardly registers with me.

Harry hurtles back to Ron’s side, wrenches open his jaw, and thrusts the bezoar into his mouth. Ron gives a great shudder, a rattling gasp, and his body becomes limp and still. I stare down horrified at Ron.

I startle when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I glance up and look at Harry’s drawn and anxious face. “I think he’ll be okay now Jamie, but we have to get him to the hospital wing.” He says softly, but firmly. I nod my head.

“Right, right.” I say carefully letting Ron’s head touch the ground. I don’t even notice the tears streaking my cheeks. He has to be okay. He just has to.

 


	14. Trials and Tribulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 14- Trials and Tribulations

 

“So, all in all, not one of Ron’s better birthdays?” says Fred.

It is evening; the hospital wing is quiet, the windows curtained, the lamps lit. Ron’s is the only occupied bed. Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and I are sitting around him; we have spent all day waiting outside the double doors, trying to see inside whenever somebody went in or out. Madam Pomfrey only let us enter at eight o’clock. Fred and George arrived at ten past.

“This isn’t how we imagined handing over our present,” says George grimly, putting down a large wrapped gift on Ron’s bedside cabinet and sitting beside Ginny.

“Yeah, when we pictured the scene, he was conscious,” says Fred.

“There we were in Hogsmeade, waiting to surprise him —” says George.

“You were in Hogsmeade?” asks Ginny, looking up.

“We were thinking of buying Zonko’s,” says Fred gloomily. “A Hogsmeade branch, you know, but a fat lot of good it’ll do us if you lot aren’t allowed out at weekends to buy our stuff anymore. . . . But never mind that now.”

He draws up a chair beside Harry and looks at Ron’s pale face.

“How exactly did it happen, Harry, Jamie?”

Harry retells the story he has already recounted, it felt like a hundred times to Dumbledore, to McGonagall, to Madam Pomfrey, to Hermione, and to Ginny. Me? Well I’ve just been numb. Ariana was outside with us for most of the day when the lesson wasn’t going on. She held onto me, and didn’t let go until she had to leave for a study group.

Just as I was beginning to feel anchorless again, Hermione slipped by my side, and took up my hand. There’s something about seeing people you know and care for attacked, poisoned, and hurt that seems to haunt me now, to the point of near paralysis.

I haven’t seen anyone die yet, but the memories from last year are still fresh in my mind, no matter how many times I try to push them away.

“. . . and then I got the bezoar down his throat and his breathing eased up a bit, Slughorn ran for help, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey turned up, and they brought Ron up here. They reckon he’ll be all right. Madam Pomfrey says he’ll have to stay here a week or so . . . keep taking essence of rue . . .”

“Blimey, it was lucky you thought of a bezoar,” says George in a low voice.

“Lucky there was one in the room,” says Harry, and I keep turning cold at the thought of what would have happened if he was not been able to lay hands on the little stone.

Hermione gives an almost inaudible sniff. She has been exceptionally quiet all day. Having hurtled, white-faced, up to Harry and me outside the hospital wing and demanded to know what had happened, she has taken almost no part in Harry and Ginny’s obsessive discussion about how Ron had been poisoned, but merely stands beside me, clench-jawed and frightened-looking, until at last we had been allowed in to see him.

“Do Mum and Dad know?” Fred asks Ginny. I wince remembering a little while ago. Molly was in tears and Arthur looked like he had aged years. I don’t think they’d be able to handle losing a child, they almost lost a fair amount of us last year, this is just added stress for them.

“They’ve already seen him, they arrived an hour ago — they’re in Dumbledore’s office now, but they’ll be back soon. . . .” Ginny replies, shooting a furtive glance at me. The two of us have sort of ended our stand off against each other. There are more important things in life like Ron being hurt to deal with now.

There is a pause while we all watch Ron mumble a little in his sleep.

“So the poison was in the drink?” says Fred quietly.

“Yes,” says Harry at once; he looks relieved that someone else brought the subject up. “Slughorn poured it out —”

“Would he have been able to slip something into Ron’s glass without you seeing?”

“Probably,” says Harry, “but why would Slughorn want to poison Ron?”

“No idea,” says Fred, frowning. “You don’t think he could have mixed up the glasses by mistake? Meaning to get you?”

“Why would Slughorn want to poison Harry?” asks Ginny.

“I dunno,” says Fred, “but there must be loads of people who’d like to poison Harry, mustn’t there? ‘The Chosen One’ and all that?”

“So you think Slughorn’s a Death Eater?” says Ginny.

“Anything’s possible,” says Fred darkly.

“He could be under the Imperius Curse,” says George.

“Dumbledore.” I say softly.

“Or he could be innocent,” says Ginny, not having heard me. “The poison could have been in the bottle, in which case it was probably meant for Slughorn himself.”

“Who’d want to kill Slughorn?”

“Dumbledore reckons Voldemort wanted Slughorn on his side,” says Harry.  “Slughorn was in hiding for a year before he came to Hogwarts. And . . .”

“It’s Dumbledore. The mead was supposed to be a gift for Dumbledore. The necklace was a gift for Dumbledore. Don’t you see? It’s all connected!” I didn’t realize that I was practically shouting at the end. I glance quickly at Ron, and then shove my gaze back to the floor. I didn’t mean to shout, it’s just that people have an uncanny ability to talk over me a lot.

“Then the poisoner didn’t know Slughorn very well,” says Hermione, speaking for the first time in hours and sounding as though she has a bad head cold. “Anyone who knew Slughorn would have known there was a good chance he’d keep something that tasty for himself.”

“Er-my-nee,” croaks Ron unexpectedly from between us.

We all fall silent, watching him anxiously, but after muttering incomprehensibly for a moment he merely starts snoring.

The dormitory doors fly open, making us all jump: Hagrid comes striding towards us, his hair rain-flecked, his bearskin coat flapping behind him, a crossbow in his hand, leaving a trail of muddy dolphin-sized footprints all over the floor.

“Bin in the forest all day!” he pants. “Aragog’s worse, I bin readin’ to him — didn’ get up ter dinner till jus’ now an’ then Professor Sprout told me abou’ Ron! How is he?”

“Not bad,” says Harry. “They say he’ll be okay.”

“No more than seven visitors at a time!” said Madam Pomfrey, hurrying out of her office.

“Hagrid makes seven,” George points out.

“Oh . . . yes . . .” says Madam Pomfrey, who seems to have been counting Hagrid as several people due to his vastness. To cover her confusion, she hurries off to clear up his muddy footprints with her wand.

“I don’ believe this,” says Hagrid hoarsely, shaking his great shaggy head as he stares down at Ron. “Jus’ don’ believe it . . . Look at him lyin’ there. . . . Who’d want ter hurt him, eh?”

“That’s just what we were discussing,” says Harry. “We don’t know.”

“Someone couldn’ have a grudge against the Gryffindor Quidditch team, could they?” says Hagrid anxiously. “Firs’ Katie, now Ron . . .”

“I can’t see anyone trying to bump off a Quidditch team,” says George. I rub my forehead feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on.

“Wood might’ve done the Slytherins if he could’ve got away with it,” says Fred fairly. I can’t even manage a faint grin at that image, even though it’s true.

“Well, I don’t think it’s Quidditch, but I think there’s a connection between the attacks,” says Hermione quietly.

“How d’you work that out?” asks Fred.

“Well, for one thing, they both ought to have been fatal and weren’t, although that was pure luck. And for another, neither the poison nor the necklace seems to have reached the person who was supposed to be killed. Of course,” she adds broodingly,  “that makes the person behind this even more dangerous in a way, because they don’t seem to care how many people they finish off before they actually reach their victim.”

Before anybody can respond to this ominous pronouncement, the dormitory doors open again and Arthur and Molly hurry up the ward with Luka tailing them. They did no more than satisfy themselves that Ron will make a full recovery on their last visit to the ward; now Molly seizes hold of Harry and hugs him very tightly.  “Dumbledore’s told us how you saved him with the bezoar,” she sobs. “Oh, Harry, what can we say? You saved Ginny . . . you saved Arthur . . . now you’ve saved Ron . . .”

“Don’t be . . . I didn’t . . .” mutters Harry awkwardly.

“Half our family does seem to owe you their lives, now I stop and think about it,” Arthur says in a constricted voice. “Well, all I can say is that it was a lucky day for the Weasleys when Ron decided to sit in your compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Harry.”

I can tell that all this thanks is making Harry uncomfortable. Before Harry can figure out something to say, Madam Pomfrey comes bustling in demanding that we adhere to the seven visitors rule. Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid excuse themselves, and I keep my attention on the pale face of my brother in the bed. Luka shoots me an inquisitive look, but I have to answer for him.

Harry left and he was the only one who could really explain what happened. I just knelt there helplessly as Ron was dying. Some kind of hero I am. Molly moved around to our side of the bed to be closer to Ron. She sat down and flicked her gaze to me.

“Jamie dear… Ron’s going to be just fine.” Molly says softly, though she still looks worried. I shake my head, attempting to stop the shaking of my hands.

“I-I’m sorry… I— I didn’t know what to do…” I stutter feeling the sting of tears in my eyes, and the uncomfortable lump growing in my throat.

“Oh sweetie… no. We don’t expect you to have known what to do.” She says taking my hand and pulling me closer to her. I resist a second before collapsing into her, practically on her lap, my tears finally falling again, free from their frozen state.

“You were there for him Jamie. That’s all that counts in the end. You made sure he didn’t hurt himself until Harry could find the bezoar.” Arthur says somewhere off to my right.

All I could do was tighten my grip on Molly and thank Merlin that nothing worse happened today. I’m not sure that my still repairing psyche could handle another attack quite yet after the last one.

* * *

 

The news that Ron has been poisoned spreads quickly next day, but it does not cause the sensation that Katie’s attack did. People seem to think that it might have been an accident, given that he was in the Potions master’s room at the time, and that as he was been given an antidote immediately there was no real harm done. In fact, the Gryffindors are generally much more interested in the upcoming Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, for many of them want to see Zacharias Smith, who plays Chaser on the Hufflepuff team, punished soundly for his commentary during the opening match against Slytherin.

I can’t quite believe that these people are really acting like it’s not a big deal that Ron almost died. Personally Quidditch is going to be hell for me now since McLaggen is now going to be keeper. He’s become even more insufferable than usual.

Harry is even more obsessed with Draco Malfoy now. I have a sneaking suspicion that he thinks that Malfoy poisoned Ron as well as gave the cursed necklace to Katie Bell.

But Harry does not get a lot of time to consider the problem (and annoy me with it), what with Quidditch practice, homework, and the fact that he is now being dogged wherever he goes by Cormac McLaggen and Lavender Brown.

He (and by end result me) cannot decide which of them is more annoying.  McLaggen keeps up a constant stream of hints that he would make a better permanent Keeper for the team than Ron, and that now that Harry is seeing him play regularly he will surely come around to this way of thinking too; he is also keen to criticize the other players (I’m one of them) and provide Harry with detailed training schemes, so that more than once Harry is forced to remind him who is Captain.

Meanwhile, Lavender keeps sidling up to Harry to discuss Ron, which Harry finds almost more wearing than McLaggen’s Quidditch lectures (though they are entertaining). At first, Lavender was very annoyed that nobody had thought to tell her that Ron was in the hospital wing — “I mean, I am his girlfriend!” — but unfortunately she has now decided to forgive Harry and subsequently me this lapse of memory and is keen to have lots of in-depth chats with us about Ron’s feelings, a most uncomfortable experience that I would have happily forgone.

“Look, why don’t you talk to Ron about all this?” Harry asks, after a particularly long interrogation from Lavender that takes in everything from precisely what Ron had said about her new dress robes to whether or not Harry thought that Ron considered his relationship with Lavender to be “serious.”

“Well, I would, but he’s always asleep when I go and see him!” says Lavender fretfully.

I couldn’t help but snort at that, which gets me a dirty look from her.

“Is he?” says Harry, surprised, for we found Ron perfectly alert every time we had been up to the hospital wing, both highly interested in the news of Dumbledore and Snape’s row and keen to abuse McLaggen as much as possible. He even played a game of wizarding chess with Ariana and me.

“Is Hermione Granger still visiting him?” Lavender demands suddenly.

“Yeah, I think so. Well, they’re friends, aren’t they?” says Harry uncomfortably.

“Friends, don’t make me laugh,” says Lavender scornfully. “She didn’t talk to him for weeks after he started going out with me! But I suppose she wants to make up with him now he’s all interesting.  . . . ”

“Would you call getting poisoned being interesting?” asks Harry. “Anyway — sorry, got to go — there’s McLaggen coming for a talk about Quidditch,” says Harry hurriedly, and we dash sideways through a door pretending to be solid wall and sprint down the shortcut that will take us off to Potions where, thankfully, neither Lavender nor McLaggen can follow us.

* * *

 

Game days always make me nervous. This one is no different, except perhaps a little worse. Ron’s still in hospital so he can’t play and McLaggen is about three seconds away from getting punched in the face by me. I’ve already had to hold Ginny back countless times for going after the moronic player.

Instead of forcing some food down what seems to be my lead filled stomach, I instead take the time to try and center myself off in one of the more hidden alcoves in the courtyard. I have my eyes closed and I’m leaning against a wall when someone intrudes on my solitude.

“Hey stranger, long time no chat.” I jump and spin around to see my twin standing there looking at me with a faint grin on his face.

“Luka!” I cry. I take a few steps forward and wrap my arms around my brother. It feels like its been ages since I’ve last seen my twin. Guiltily I realize that it more than likely probably has been ages since the last time that we’ve spoken to one another. Still he uncannily picks up on my cues, like there was never a day of separation between us.

“Don’t give me the guilt eyes. No. Jamie don’t. We’ve both been a little obsessive lately.” Luka heaves a sigh, and a slight melancholy look crosses his face, “We were never like Fred and George you know? Even when we were younger there was still the constant need for space and ability to do things on ones own.”

“We still were with each other all the time though. We were each other’s best friends… nothing in the world was going to come between the Pendragon siblings.” I say shakily with a choked sob. Quickly Luka folds me into his arms again.

“Don’t cry Jamie, there’s nothing to be ashamed of or mourn. I think— no I feel that this is what growing up is like. You still love and care for the other person, but the ability to be by their side all the time is near impossible.” He explains.

“It wouldn’t be that way if the stupid hat and placed you in Gryffindor.” I murmur. Luka actually lets out a goodhearted laugh at that.

“I could say the same about you in Ravenclaw, though I daresay the whole house would be scandalize by the escapades that you manage to somehow find yourself in.” He chuckles.

I think about it for a moment, just taking in the fact that my brother and I are actually standing here talking to each other. I didn’t realize how much I had missed him exactly until I actually saw him.

“I can stop spending as much time with Harry, Hermione, and Ron. We could find some time to just… I dunno hang out together. We could even study! You like studying right Luka?” I say with a wicked grin on my face. He snorts and rolls his eyes at me.

“You, actually voluntarily offer to study? By Merlin this is a historical occasion this is! I need to get myself a quick notes quill so I can mark down this day, and immortalize it for the rest of eternity!” Luka says melodramatically clutching at his chest.

“Oh sod off! Do you want to meet up or not? I am a very in demand kind of person after all.” I say grinning at him widely.

“Oh hippogriff shit. Your ego is big enough to satisfy the likes of ten normal people… and yes we’re on for hanging out or dare I suggest it ‘studying’.” He makes air quotes around the word. I roll my eyes at him, unwilling to admit that he knows me so well.

“Look Jame…” Luka starts but get’s cut off.

“Jamie! Come on, we have to get a move on or we’re gonna be late!” Harry’s voice breaks through the private little bubble between my brother and me. I glance at Harry then turn to glance at Luka.

“You were saying?” I say, quickly holding up a finger to Harry to tell him to wait for me. Luka glances at Harry, then at me, and then quickly to the ground.

“Never mind. You have a match to go and win. I’ll be there cheering you on. I would wish you luck but you don’t need it!” Luka rambles some, and I give my brother an odd look.

He’s keeping something from me. Luka rambles when he’s nervous— unfortunately, there’s not time for me to interrogate him and get him to spit out what exactly is bothering him.

“Okay, well see you later then.” I say reluctantly pulling myself away from my brother and hurrying to Harry.

What I didn’t get to hear was possibly the most important part of the entire conversation that we were having.

“No. She’s not ready to hear this. It’s a good thing that Harry called for her. I can’t— I won’t show it to her. This is my problem now.” Luka says softly enough for it to be swept away by the wind.

* * *

 

Harry and I near end up sprinting to the changing rooms in order to get to the game on time. My mind is half distracted by the weirdness of my brother, but my sister quickly manages to snap my mind out of detective mode, and into game mode, or don’t kill McLaggen mode as I like to call it.

“Where have you been?” demands Ginny, as we come into the changing rooms slightly panting. I have my scarlet robes on already. The whole team is changed and ready; Coote and Peakes, the Beaters, are both hitting their clubs nervously against their legs.

“I met Malfoy,” Harry tells her and me quietly, as he pulls his scarlet robes over his head.

“So?” Ginny says. I didn’t know he ran into Malfoy.

“So I wanted to know how come he’s up at the castle with a couple of girlfriends while everyone else is down here. . . .”

“Does it matter right now?” Ginny says again, looking in a right state enough to smack our Captain in the head.

“Well, I’m not likely to find out, am I?” says Harry, seizing his Firebolt and pushing his glasses straight. “Come on then!”

And without another word, we march out onto the pitch to deafening cheers and boos.

There is little wind; the clouds are patchy; every now and then there are dazzling flashes of bright sunlight. This is going to be quite a game.

“Tricky conditions!” McLaggen says bracingly to the team. “Coote, Peakes, you’ll want to fly out of the sun, so they don’t see you coming —”

“I’m the Captain, McLaggen, shut up giving them instructions,” says Harry angrily. “Just get up by the goalposts!”

Once McLaggen has marched off, Harry turns to Coote and Peakes.

“Make sure you do fly out of the sun,” he tells them grudgingly.

“Breathe Harry.” I say quietly before passing him to get set in my place.

I watch as Harry shakes hands with the Hufflepuff captain. I wonder for a split second which team my girlfriend is rooting for before, the quaffle is tossed up, and I’m not allowed to think of anything else other than playing Quidditch.

“And that’s Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle,” says a dreamy voice, echoing over the grounds. “He did the commentary last time, of course, and Ginny Weasley flew into him, I think probably on purpose, it looked like it. Smith was being quite rude about Gryffindor, I expect he regrets that now he’s playing them — oh, look, he’s lost the Quaffle, Ginny took it from him, I do like her, she’s very nice. . . .”

I can’t help but grin at hearing the commentary, as I flank Ginny attempting to keep the Hufflepuff chasers off her tail, before I’m nailed with a rather nasty shove by a big brute of a player, and are sent off course for a moment.

“. . . but now that big Hufflepuff player’s got the Quaffle from her, I can’t remember his name, it’s something like Bibble — no, Buggins —”

“It’s Cadwallader!” says Professor McGonagall loudly from beside Luna. The crowd laughs.

Moments later, Cadwallader scores. McLaggen was shouting criticism at Ginny for allowing the Quaffle out of her possession, with the result that he did not notice the large red ball soaring past his right ear. What an idiot.

“McLaggen, will you pay attention to what you’re supposed to be doing and leave everyone else alone!” bellows Harry, loud enough so that I can hear it flying away. I’m too far away to hear the arsehole’s response though.

“And Harry Potter’s now having an argument with his Keeper,” says Luna serenely, while both Hufflepuffs and Slytherins below in the crowd cheer and jeer. “I don’t think that’ll help him find the Snitch, but maybe it’s a clever ruse. . . .”

Ginny and I score a goal apiece, giving the red-and-gold-clad supporters below something to cheer about. Then Cadwallader scores again, making things level, but Luna does not seem to have noticed; she appears singularly uninterested in such mundane things as the score, and keeps attempting to draw the crowd’s attention to such things as interestingly shaped clouds and the possibility that Zacharias Smith, who has so far failed to maintain possession of the Quaffle for longer than a minute, is suffering from something called “Loser’s Lurgy.”

Though highly entertaining her commentary is, it is also more than a little distracting.

“Seventy-forty to Hufflepuff!” barks Professor McGonagall into Luna’s megaphone.

“Is it, already?” says Luna vaguely. “Oh, look! The Gryffindor Keeper’s got hold of one of the Beater’s bats.”

I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Sure enough, McLaggen, for reasons best known to himself, has pulled Peakes’s bat from him and appears to be demonstrating how to hit a Bludger towards an oncoming Cadwallader.

“Will you give him back his bat and get back to the goalposts!” roars Harry, pelting towards McLaggen just as McLaggen takes a ferocious swipe at the Bludger and mishits it. I wince as the bludger connects soundly with Harry’s skull. Oh Merlin—please no. I don’t know how much more I can take of this. Giving up my pursuit of Cadwallder I tip my broom into a dive, and catch Harry soundly before we both tumble onto the pitch.

I look at Harry worriedly, not liking at all the way that blood was pouring from the wound on his head, and the way that the Slytherin crowd was cheering. Others quickly landed as well, and McGonagall pushed to the front of the growing crowd next to me.

She carefully helps me up and back away from Harry. I didn’t realize that I was shaking so badly, until I felt Ginny’s hands on my shoulder. She pulls me a little further away from the crowd and spins me so that she can look me in the eye. “Jamie, are you still up for playing? We can’t have you up there only half here, for the team can’t have that, and you could get seriously hurt playing like that.” She says seriously.

I blink a few times, before trying to shake my head out of the still lingering trauma that’s there. “I’m good… I’m good.” I say trying to reassure my sister and myself that I’m good enough to fly. After a long drawn out second, where she’s staring at me so intently that it feels like she’s looking into my soul, she nods.

Harry’s carted away off the field to the hospital wing to the polite if not saddened applause of the Gryffindors. The game is back on though before anyone can really tell what happened. It’s safe to say that the rest of the game was a mess. I could barely count the amount of times that McLaggen messed up. It was painful to hear the score continue to go up. Ginny managed to score two more times, Dean scored once, and then I managed to score once more as well, which thoroughly shocked me.

In the end it didn’t really matter though. The final score of the game was 320-60 Hufflepuff. I didn’t even really have it all that in me to be upset with the score. The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins were cheering like wild while the Gryffindors looked remorsefully on.

In was quiet as we walked to our changing room after that game. I could tell by the strained looks on my teammates faces that they were going to really lay into the buffoon once we were out of the eyesight of others. Me, I couldn’t stand the fact that he had hit Harry in the head with a bludger. Harry has enough problems as it is without having to go to the hospital wing with a cracked skull every week.

As soon as the doors swing shut, the noise level in the room reaches new heights.

“You IMBECILE—”

“UTTER DISGRACE—”

“—GRANDMUM WOULD BE A BETTER PLAYER—”

“ARSEHOLE—”

“NEVER PLAYING WITH YOU AGAIN—”

I merely stand there frozen for a moment letting my teammates berate the poor excuse for a player. There’s nothing more really that could be said to him, though McLaggen has fleeting excuses for what actually happened out there. Unable to take his insistence that Harry should have been paying better attention any longer, I march straight up to him, and level a kick right between his legs.

It actually hurts me a bit for he is wearing a cup (lucky bastard) but he still collapses to his knees with an undignified squeak. I lower myself down to his level so that I can have his undivided attention.

“You don’t take out teammates McLaggen. If I ever so much as see you near the pitch in an official capacity again, I promise that you will not like the result of that outcome. Do I make myself clear?” I ask in a low, deadly voice. The giant of a boy swallows quickly and nods his head.

I give him a smile, but judging by the look on his face it’s more feral than reassuring. With that I get up and glance at my teammates Coote, Peakes, and Dean are all shielding themselves from me, while Ginny has an almost disappointed look on her face like she had wanted to be the one to kick McLaggen where it counts.

“Hands.” Is all she says to me though. I glance down quickly and see that my hands are in fact laced with wisps of the blue fire known to make themselves present on my skin. With a muttered excuse I make my way into the girls’ changing area, and quickly shed my Quidditch robes with shaking hands.

I don’t know what the hell is going on with me anymore. I can’t seem to control my emotions all that much. I would of thought that the trauma of last year would have gone away by now. I guess I actually don’t have much hope of that now.

When I exit the changing room, I’m not all that surprised to see that Ariana and Luka are waiting for me outside. “Yay Hufflepuff?” I say weakly, not entirely sure why I even said that to begin with. With a quick roll of her eyes Ariana is by my side in moments, taking my hand in hers and smothering the lingering small flames.

All I feel is exhaustion now, exhaustion and worry. “Come on then, I think you’re going to need to see Harry.” Luka says coming to my other side, and bumping my shoulder lightly. I glance at both of them, and wonder not for the first time what I did to deserve them.

“Come on love.” Ariana says lightly, and gives my hand a slight tug to get me moving.

“Ugh, please can we save the terms of endearment for when I’m not around?” Luka groans.

“Well Luka you’re hardly around us both as it is, so we have to make up for lost time in torturing you with all the mushy stuff that we can.” Ariana says cheerfully, and I can feel a weak smile starting to form on my face.

“And that’s why I stay away. Books can’t mortify you with images of sisters and best friends that you don’t want in your head.” He grumbles.

“I bet Jamie could make one!” Ariana says triumphantly, and I’m lost in their banter all the way up to the hospital wing, where I’m able to reassure myself that Harry is fine and that both he and Ron will make it out of there unharmed.

* * *

Harry and Ron leave the hospital wing first thing on Monday morning, restored to full health by the ministrations of Madam Pomfrey and now able to enjoy the benefits of having been knocked out and poisoned, the best of which is that Hermione is friends with Ron again. Hermione even escorts them with me down to breakfast, bringing with her the news that Ginny has argued with Dean.

If one wasn’t paying attention they wouldn’t see the way that Harry perked up at that news.

“What did they row about?” he asks, trying to sound casual as we turn onto a seventh-floor corridor that is deserted but for a very small girl who was examining a tapestry of trolls in tutus. She looks terrified at the sight of us approaching and drops the heavy brass scales she is carrying.

“It’s all right!” says Hermione kindly, hurrying forward to help her. “Here . . .”

She taps the broken scales with her wand and says, “Reparo.” The girl does not say thank you, but remains rooted to the spot as we pass and watch us out of sight (very odd); Ron glances back at her.

“I swear they’re getting smaller,” he says.

“It could be that you’re just growing abnormally taller.” I say sweetly, back to my usual self again. Ron glares at me and takes a swipe, which I dodge out of the way.

“Never mind her,” says Harry, a little impatiently. “What did Ginny and Dean row about, Hermione?”

“Oh, Dean was laughing about McLaggen hitting that Bludger at you,” says Hermione. I frown not sure exactly what to think about that. Now that Harry is better its kind of funny thinking how bad of a beater McLaggen would be, but on the other, it’s horrible because he hurt Harry.

“It must’ve looked funny,” says Ron reasonably.

“It didn’t look funny at all!” says Hermione hotly. “It looked terrible and if Jamie hadn’t caught Harry he could have been very badly hurt!”

“Yeah, well, there was no need for Ginny and Dean to split up over it, and by the way thanks Jamie,” says Harry, still trying to sound casual. “Or are they still together?”

“It’s fine Harry.” I say rolling my eyes since it’s clearly the row that Ginny and Dean had that’s interesting him the most.

“Yes, they are — but why are you so interested?” asks Hermione, giving Harry a sharp look.

“I just don’t want my Quidditch team messed up again!” he says hastily, but Hermione continues to look suspicious, and Harry looks most relieved when a voice behind us calls, “Harry!” giving him an excuse to turn his back on her.

“Oh, hi, Luna.”

“I went to the hospital wing to find you,” says Luna, rummaging in her bag. “But they said you’d left. . . .”

She thrusts what appears to be a green onion, a large spotted toadstool, and a considerable amount of what looks like cat litter into Ron’s hands, finally pulling out a rather grubby scroll of parchment that she hands to Harry.

“. . . I’ve been told to give you this.”

It is a small roll of parchment, which we recognize as another invitation to a lesson with Dumbledore.

“Tonight,” he tells Ron, Hermione, and me, once he unrolls it.

“Nice commentary last match!” says Ron to Luna as she takes back the green onion, the toadstool, and the cat litter. Luna smiles vaguely.

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” she says. “Everyone says I was dreadful.”

“No, I’m serious!” says Ron earnestly. “I can’t remember enjoying commentary more! What is this, by the way?” he adds, holding the onionlike object up to eye level.

“Oh, it’s a Gurdyroot,” she says, stuffing the cat litter and the toadstool back into her bag. “You can keep it if you like, I’ve got a few of them. They’re really excellent for warding off Gulping Plimpies.”

And she walks away, leaving Ron chortling, still clutching the Gurdyroot.

“You know, she’s grown on me, Luna,” he says, as we set off again for the Great Hall. “I know she’s insane, but it’s in a good —”

He stops talking very suddenly. Lavender Brown is standing at the foot of the marble staircase looking thunderous.

“Hi,” says Ron nervously. Oh this is going to be good.

“C’mon,” Harry mutters to Hermione and me, pulling me along as we hear, “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting out today? And why was she with you?”

Ron looks both sulky and annoyed when he appears at breakfast half an hour later, and though he sits with Lavender, I do not see them exchange a word all the time they are together. Hermione is acting as though she is quite oblivious to all of this, but once or twice I see an inexplicable smirk cross her face. All that day she seems to be in a particularly good mood, and that evening in the common room she even consents to look over (in other words, finish writing) Harry’s Herbology essay, something she has been resolutely refusing to do up to this point, because she knows that Harry will then let Ron copy his work.

Harry glances down at his watch, and I see an excited look come over his face. “I have to go. Thanks Hermione!” He calls practically running out of the common room. I turn my attention to Hermione then.

“So… what’s up with you and Ron?” I demand skipping beating about the bush. Hermione’s quill stops scratching Harry’s essay in front of her, and I can see that she’s gone pale.

“Nothing! Why would you say that?” She demands glancing around the common room. There a few people in here, but they are far enough away so that they won’t actually hear anything.

“I dunno, maybe the fact that while Ron was passed out in hospital he groaned your name, pretended to be asleep every time Lavender came around, and now the two of you are actually on friendly speaking terms again?” I list off lowering my voice, to try and appease the panicked girl.

“Yes we decided to put our differences aside in light of everything that happened. First and foremost Jamie we are friends, and we shouldn’t have let Lavender get in the way of that.” Hermione says and I can almost believe her, that’s how convincing she is.

“Come on Mione I see the way you look at him, and act around him. You like him. Honestly, that’s not such a bad thing.” I whisper. She looks away and bites her lip.

“There’s nothing to talk about Jamie. He’s with Lavender, and that’s his choice. That doesn’t mean that I can’t still be friends with him, just like I’m friends with Ariana and you. Now if you don’t mind, I have to fix this weak essay of Harry’s so that he doesn’t flunk out of school.” She says firmly.

I lean back in my chair with a huff.

“Don’t you mean not have Ron flunk out?” I ask after a moment.

“Isn’t that what I said?” Hermione says not even looking up, but I can hear the humor in her voice from here. Chuckling I open up my charms book, and set out upon reading up on new and more advanced spells.


	15. The Unknowable Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 15- The Unknowable Room

 

Harry came back from his meeting with Dumbledore more determined than ever about finding out a way to get the memory from Slughorn. Unfortunately for him that seemed to revolve around looking at the Prince’s book for help. I don’t quite understand how an old potion book from a potions master is really going to help him, but I’ve been learning to keep my opinions to myself when it come to the Prince’s book.

“You won’t find anything in there,” says Hermione firmly, late on Sunday evening.

“Don’t start, Hermione,” says Harry. “If it hadn’t been for the Prince, Ron wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

“He would if you’d just listened to Snape in our first year,” says Hermione dismissively.

See what did I tell you? This book is the cause of more trouble and rifts in our little group than Lavender Brown ever could. So I smartly keep myself absorbed in the drawing of Buckbeak— excuse me Witherwings.

We are sitting beside the fire in the common room; the only other people awake are fellow sixth years. There was a certain amount of excitement earlier when we had come back from dinner to find a new sign on the notice board that announced the date for our Apparition Test. Those who will be seventeen on or before the first test date, the twenty-first of April, have the option of signing up for additional practice sessions, which will take place (heavily supervised) in Hogsmeade.

Ron panicked on reading this notice; he has still not managed to Apparate and fears he will not be ready for the test. Hermione, who has now achieved Apparition twice, is a little more confident, I’ve managed to Apparate once, but Harry, who will not be seventeen for another four months, cannot take the test whether ready or not.

“At least you can Apparate, though!” says Ron tensely. “You’ll have no trouble come July!”

Harry has only managed to Apparate once the same as me.

Having wasted a lot of time worrying aloud about Apparition, Ron is now struggling to finish a viciously difficult essay for Snape that Harry, Hermione, and I have already completed (with loads of help from Hermione).

“I’m telling you, the stupid Prince isn’t going to be able to help you with this, Harry!” says Hermione, more loudly. “There’s only one way to force someone to do what you want, and that’s the Imperius Curse, which is illegal —”

“Yeah, I know that, thanks,” says Harry, not looking up from the book. “That’s why I’m looking for something different. Dumbledore says Veritaserum won’t do it, but there might be something else, a potion or a spell . . .”

“You’re going about it the wrong way,” says Hermione. “Only you can get the memory, Dumbledore says. That must mean you can persuade Slughorn where other people can’t. It’s not a question of slipping him a potion, anyone could do that —”

“How d’you spell ‘belligerent’?” says Ron, shaking his quill very hard while staring at his parchment. “It can’t be B — U — M —”

I can’t but snicker at that.

“Shove off!” Ron barks at me.

“No, it isn’t,” says Hermione, pulling Ron’s essay towards her. “And ‘augury’ doesn’t begin O — R — G either. What kind of quill are you using?”

“It’s one of Fred and George’s Spell-Check ones . . . but I think the charm must be wearing off. . . .”

“Yes, it must,” says Hermione, pointing at the title of his essay, “because we were asked how we’d deal with dementors, not ‘Dugbogs,’ and I don’t remember you changing your name to ‘Roonil Wazlib’ either.”

“Ah no!” says Ron, staring horror-struck at the parchment. “Don’t say I’ll have to write the whole thing out again!”

“I dunno Ron. I rather think that Roonil suites you.” I say with a grin. He wads up a spare sheet of paper and launches it at me. I merely laugh when it bounces off my chest.

“It’s okay, we can fix it,” says Hermione, pulling the essay towards her and taking out her wand.

“I love you, Hermione,” says Ron, sinking back in his chair, rubbing his eyes wearily. I snap my mouth shut and glance at Hermione wanting to see how she’s going to react to that.

Hermione turns faintly pink, but merely says, “Don’t let Lavender hear you saying that.”

“I won’t,” says Ron into his hands. “Or maybe I will . . . then she’ll ditch me . . .”

“Why don’t you ditch her if you want to finish it?” asks Harry.

“Yeah you two have been frosty since the hall confrontation.” I point out, shuddering at the amount of nights I’ve had to go to bed listening to the dissection of every one of Ron’s thoughts and actions.

“You haven’t ever chucked anyone, have you?” says Ron. “You and Cho just —”

“Sort of fell apart, yeah,” says Harry.

“And Jamie and Ariana are still disgustingly sweet together.” Ron shudders.

“Haters going to hate.” I merely say in reply folding a paper airplane and tossing it into the air, to watch it make lazy loops.

“Yeah well you’re not the one having to watch your sister make out with anyone.” Ron says his face turning red again. He had run into us in a corridor earlier, when we were spending some… quality time together.

“Not like we all haven’t seen worse with Lavender.” I remind him. Ron deflates at that.

“Wish Lavender and me will just fall apart,” says Ron gloomily, watching Hermione silently tapping each of his misspelled words with the end of her wand, so that they correct themselves on the page. “But the more I hint I want to finish it, the tighter she holds on. It’s like going out with the giant squid.”

I burst into laughter at the picture of Lavender being a giant pink octopus.

“There,” says Hermione, some twenty minutes later, handing back Ron’s essay.

“Thanks a million,” says Ron. “Can I borrow your quill for the conclusion?”

I glance around, the four of us are now the only ones left in the common room, Seamus has just gone up to bed cursing Snape and his essay. The only sounds are the crackling of the fire and Ron scratching out one last paragraph on dementors using Hermione’s quill. Harry had just closed the Half-Blood Prince’s book, yawning, when —

Crack.

Hermione lets out a little shriek; Ron spills ink all over his freshly completed essay, I jump and make a long stream across the eye of my drawing, and Harry says, “Kreacher!”

The house-elf bows low and addresses his own gnarled toes.

“Master said he wanted regular reports on what the Malfoy boy is doing, so Kreacher has come to give —”

Crack.

Dobby appears alongside Kreacher, his tea-cozy hat askew.

“Dobby has been helping too, Harry Potter!” he squeaks, casting Kreacher a resentful look. “And Kreacher ought to tell Dobby when he is coming to see Harry Potter so they can make their reports together!”

“What in Merlin’s saggy pants?” I breathe, not exactly sure what to make of the situation in front of me.

“What is this?” asks Hermione, still looking shocked by these sudden appearances. “What’s going on, Harry?”

Harry hesitates before answering.

“Well . . . they’ve been following Malfoy for me,” he says.

“Night and day,” croaks Kreacher.

“Dobby has not slept for a week, Harry Potter!” says Dobby proudly, swaying where he stands.

Hermione looks indignant.

“You haven’t slept, Dobby? But surely, Harry, you didn’t tell him not to —”

“No, of course I didn’t,” says Harry quickly. “Dobby, you can sleep, all right? But has either of you found out anything?” he hastens to ask, before Hermione can intervene again. I don’t know whether to be impressed that Harry came up with this plan or worried.

“Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pure blood,” croaks Kreacher at once. “His features recall the fine bones of my mistress and his manners are those of —”

“Draco Malfoy is a bad boy!” squeaks Dobby angrily. “A bad boy who — who —”

He shudders from the tassel of his tea cozy to the toes of his socks and then runs at the fire, as though about to dive into it; Harry, to whom this is not entirely unexpected, catches him around the middle and holds him fast. For a few seconds Dobby struggles, then goes limp.

“Thank you, Harry Potter,” he pants. “Dobby still finds it difficult to speak ill of his old masters . . .”

Harry releases him; Dobby straightens his tea cozy and says defiantly to Kreacher,  “But Kreacher should know that Draco Malfoy is not a good master to a house-elf!”

“Yeah, we don’t need to hear about you being in love with Malfoy,” Harry tells Kreacher. “Let’s fast forward to where he’s actually been going.”

Kreacher bows again, looking furious, and then says, “Master Malfoy eats in the Great Hall, he sleeps in a dormitory in the dungeons, he attends his classes in a variety of —”

I swear this is all almost comical. I honestly don’t even know what to say.

“Dobby, you tell me,” says Harry, cutting across Kreacher. “Has he been going anywhere he shouldn’t have?”

“Harry Potter, sir,” squeaks Dobby, his great orb-like eyes shining in the firelight, “the Malfoy boy is breaking no rules that Dobby can discover, but he is still keen to avoid detection. He has been making regular visits to the seventh floor with a variety of other students, who keep watch for him while he enters —”

“The Room of Requirement!” says Harry, smacking himself hard on the forehead with Advanced Potion-Making. Hermione, Ron, and I stare at him. “That’s where he’s been sneaking off to! That’s where he’s doing . . . whatever he’s doing! And I bet that’s why he’s been disappearing off the map — come to think of it, I’ve never seen the Room of Requirement on there!”

“Maybe the Marauders never knew the room was there,” says Ron.

“I think it’ll be part of the magic of the room,” says Hermione. “If you need it to be Unplottable, it will be.”

“Yet they still managed to find us last year.” I point out grimacing at the memory of Umbridge.

“Dobby, have you managed to get in to have a look at what Malfoy’s doing?” says Harry eagerly.

“No, Harry Potter, that is impossible,” says Dobby.

“No, it’s not,” says Harry at once. “Like Jamie said, Malfoy got into our headquarters there last year, so I’ll be able to get in and spy on him, no problem.”

“But I don’t think you will, Harry,” says Hermione slowly. “Malfoy already knew exactly how we were using the room, didn’t he, because that stupid Marietta had blabbed. He needed the room to become the headquarters of the D.A., so it did. But you don’t know what the room becomes when Malfoy goes in there, so you don’t know what to ask it to transform into.”

“There’ll be a way around that,” says Harry dismissively. “You’ve done brilliantly, Dobby.”

I’m not so sure that this will be as easy as Harry thinks it will, but I have a feeling that we’re going to be spending a lot of time figuring out how to make it work.

“Kreacher’s done well too,” says Hermione kindly; but far from looking grateful, Kreacher averts his huge, bloodshot eyes and croaks at the ceiling, “The Mudblood is speaking to Kreacher, Kreacher will pretend he cannot hear —”

“Get out of it,” Harry snaps at him, and Kreacher makes one last deep bow and Disapparates. “You’d better go and get some sleep too, Dobby.”

“Thank you, Harry Potter, sir!” squeaks Dobby happily, and he too vanishes.

“I hate Kreacher.” I grumble, and Hermione sends me a look. She’s far too nice for her own good that girl.

“How good’s this?” says Harry enthusiastically, turning to Ron, Hermione, and me the moment the room is elf-free again. “We know where Malfoy’s going! We’ve got him cornered now!”

“Yeah, it’s great,” says Ron glumly, who is attempting to mop up the sodden mass of ink that was recently an almost completed essay. Hermione pulls it towards her and begins siphoning the ink off with her wand.

“But what’s all this about him going up there with a ‘variety of students’?” says Hermione. “How many people are in on it? You wouldn’t think he’d trust lots of them to know what he’s doing . . .”

“Yeah, that is weird,” says Harry, frowning. “I heard him telling Crabbe it wasn’t Crabbe’s business what he was doing . . . so what’s he telling all these . . . all these . . .”

Harry’s voice tails away; he is staring at the fire.

“There is something that we haven’t considered.” I say, getting the attention of my friends.

“What?” Harry demands.

“Well what if he’s actually only told a few people…” I start, and Harry’s eyes light up.

“Brilliant Jamie! He’s nicked it!” Harry cries, slapping my hand with his.

“Nicked what?” Ron asks, looking more confused as the conversation draws on.

“Polyjuice Potion. He stole some of the Polyjuice Potion Slughorn showed us in our first Potions lesson . . . There aren’t a whole variety of students standing guard for Malfoy . . . it’s just Crabbe and Goyle as usual . . . Yeah, it all fits!” says Harry, jumping up and starting to pace in front of the fire. “They’re stupid enough to do what they’re told even if he won’t tell them what he’s up to . . . but he doesn’t want them to be seen lurking around outside the Room of Requirement, so he’s got them taking Polyjuice to make them look like other people . . . Those two girls I saw him with when he missed Quidditch — ha! Crabbe and Goyle!”

“Do you mean to say,” says Hermione in a hushed voice, “that that little girl whose scales I repaired —?”

“Was really a blundering baboon? Yeah, I believe so.” I say shaking my head at the incredulity of the idea.

“Yeah, of course!” says Harry loudly, staring at her. “Of course! Malfoy must’ve been inside the room at the time, so she — what am I talking about? — he dropped the scales to tell Malfoy not to come out, because there was someone there! And there was that girl who dropped the toadspawn too! We’ve been walking past him all the time and not realizing it!”

“He’s got Crabbe and Goyle transforming into girls?” guffaws Ron. “Blimey . . . No wonder they don’t look too happy these days . . . I’m surprised they don’t tell him to stuff it . . .”

“Well, they wouldn’t, would they, if he’s shown them his Dark Mark?” says Harry. I stiffen at the mention of the mark. That brings back some memories that are still trying to break forth to the front of my conscious.

“Hmmm . . . the Dark Mark we don’t know exists,” says Hermione skeptically, rolling up Ron’s dried essay before it can come to any more harm and handing it to him.

“We’ll see,” says Harry confidently.

“Yes, we will,” Hermione says, getting to her feet and stretching. “But, Harry, before you get all excited, I still don’t think you’ll be able to get into the Room of Requirement without knowing what’s there first. And I don’t think you should forget” — she heaves her bag onto her shoulder and gives him a very serious look — “that what you’re supposed to be concentrating on is getting that memory from Slughorn. Good night.”

Harry watches her go, feeling slightly disgruntled. Once the door to the girls’ dormitories has closed behind her he rounds on Ron, and me.

“What d’you think?”

“Wish I could Disapparate like a house-elf,” says Ron, staring at the spot where Dobby had vanished. “I’d have that Apparition Test in the bag.”

Slowly I get out of my seat and stretch, sighing happily at the pops in my back. “Well I’m going to turn in as well, someone has to have had some sleep, so that we can make marginally sane and rational choices in the morning.” I say with a tired smile, and follow after Hermione, and my comfortable bed that is calling my name. 

* * *

 

Harry is in a state of great anticipation over breakfast the following morning; he has a free period before Defense Against the Dark Arts and is determined to spend it trying to get into the Room of Requirement. Hermione is rather ostentatiously showing no interest in his whispered plans for forcing entry into the room, which irritates Harry, because he thought she might be a lot of help if she wanted to.

“Look,” he says quietly, leaning forward and putting a hand on the Daily Prophet, which she has just removed from a post owl, to stops her from opening it and vanishing behind it. “I haven’t forgotten about Slughorn, but I haven’t got a clue how to get that memory off him, and until I get a brain wave why shouldn’t I find out what Malfoy’s doing?”

“I’ve already told you, you need to persuade Slughorn,” says Hermione. “It’s not a question of tricking him or bewitching him, or Dumbledore could have done it in a second. Instead of messing around outside the Room of Requirement” — she jerks the Prophet out from under Harry’s hand and unfolds it to look at the front page — “you should go and find Slughorn and start appealing to his better nature.”

“Anyone we know —?” asks Ron, as Hermione scans the headlines. I sit there in tense silence waiting to hear the answer to Ron’s question.

“Yes!” says Hermione, causing both Harry and Ron to gag on their breakfast, and for me to drop my fork sending it clattering to the table. “But it’s all right, he’s not dead — it’s Mundungus, he’s been arrested and sent to Azkaban! Something to do with impersonating an Inferius during an attempted burglary . . . and someone called Octavius Pepper has vanished . . . Oh, and how horrible, a nine-year-old boy has been arrested for trying to kill his grandparents, they think he was under the Imperius Curse . . .”

After breakfast the four of us go our separate ways. Hermione runs off to Ancient Runes, Ron heads back to the common room for some last minute work on his essay for Snape, and Harry disappears to the seventh floor, to try and force the Room of Requirement open.

I on the other hand wait about in the entrance hall for a few minutes waiting for a certain blond to emerge. After a while she walks out and I make my way over to her. “Alone at last.” I say with a quiet chuckle.

Ariana rolls her eyes at me, but slips her hand into mine, and gives me a quick kiss on the lips, before we start to walk down the corridor.

“I would have thought that you’d want to wait a while, after our run in with Ron yesterday. As amusing as I find it that your brother is so overprotective of you, it does certainly kill the mood.” Ariana says catching my gaze, and I nearly melt into a puddle on the floor from the heat of it.

“T-there have been plenty of times that he hasn’t caught us.” I point out, stuttering over the first word. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything because the memories, and the now smoldering look in her dark eyes is cutting through me faster than ever.

“True… but now isn’t the time to see if we can recreate any of those good memories.” Ariana says shaking her head, as if trying to get her mind out of the gutter.

“Too bad.” I sigh. We find a little alcove with a bench and sit down close enough that our thighs and shoulders are touching.

“How are you doing Jamie?” Ariana asks softly, and I can instantly tell that this has been on her mind for a while.

“Okay.” I say turning my attention to a spider in its web on the other side of the hall.

“You’re always okay Jame, you do know that its okay not to be okay right?” Ariana says taking my hand in hers again. I immediately feel calmer again with her touch, its incredible how she can do that, her mere touch has me feeling better.

“I know…” I say closing my eyes and letting my head fall against her shoulder. I know that she worries about me; I know that Luka worries about me as well. Hell sometimes I’m even worried about me, I should be fine, be over what happened almost a year ago now, but it still sticks with me, popping up at bad moments.

“As long as you know that I’m always here for you Jame, and that I’m never going anywhere, we’re good.” Ariana says after a while, wrapping an arm around me, and pulling me to her where she kisses my head.

I feel so incredibly loved in that moment that I almost burst into tears.

“I was so scared, and I still am. Bad things happen to people all the time. I can’t be there to stop all of them. I can’t protect you, Luka, any of the Weasleys, Hermione, Harry… it’s just too much.” I whimper. Ariana tightens her grip on me, and lets out a shaky breath.

“That’s why you have us there as well. We all will protect each other Jamie. It’s not your responsibility to keep everyone safe, anymore than its Harry’s just because he survived a killing curse all those years ago. Let us take some of the burden from you Jamie, I promise that you’ll be okay.” She says seriously. I sniff back a sob threatening to escape me, and nod my head in understanding.

“Okay…” I say softly, and let the tension still residing in my body release. I’m pretty sure that it was like a bag of bricks hitting Ariana, but she shouldered the weight well, adjusting a little, but humming out contentedly after a moment.

“You’re going to be fine Jamie— just fine.”

* * *

 

Harry is late for our Defense Against the Dark Arts class. That’s never a good thing since Snape is now the professor.

“Late again, Potter,” says Snape coldly, as Harry hurries into the candlelit classroom. “Ten points from Gryffindor.”

Harry scowls at Snape as he flings himself into the seat beside Ron; half the class is still on its feet, taking out books and organizing their things.

“Before we start, I want your dementor essays,” says Snape, waving his wand carelessly, so that twenty-five scrolls of parchment soar into the air and land in a neat pile on his desk. “And I hope for your sakes they are better than the tripe I had to endure on resisting the Imperius Curse. Now, if you will all open your books to page — what is it, Mr. Finnigan?”

“Sir,” says Seamus, “I’ve been wondering, how do you tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost? Because there was something in the paper about an Inferius —”

“No, there wasn’t,” says Snape in a bored voice.

“But sir, I heard people talking —”

“If you had actually read the article in question, Mr. Finnigan, you would have known that the so-called Inferius was nothing but a smelly sneak thief by the name of Mundungus Fletcher.”

“I thought Snape and Mundungus were on the same side,” mutters Harry to Ron, Hermione, and me. “Shouldn’t he be upset Mundungus has been arrest —”

“But Potter seems to have a lot to say on the subject,” says Snape, pointing suddenly at the back of the room, his black eyes fixed on Harry. “Let us ask Potter how we would tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost.”

The whole class looks around at Harry.

“Er — well — ghosts are transparent —” he says.

“Oh, very good” interrupts Snape, his lip curling. “Yes, it is easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. ‘Ghosts are transparent.’”

I would usually be all up in arms for trying to beat Snape back with his verbal assaults, but at the moment all I feel is tired and drained from my talk with Ariana. A good tired, like maybe I can finally get a good night’s sleep tired.

Pansy Parkinson lets out a high-pitched giggle. Several other people are smirking. Harry takes a deep breath and continued calmly, though he looks ready to burst,  “Yeah, ghosts are transparent, but Inferi are dead bodies, aren’t they? So they’d be solid —”

“A five-year-old could have told us as much,” sneers Snape. “The Inferius is a corpse that has been reanimated by a Dark wizard’s spells. It is not alive it is merely used like a puppet to do the wizard’s bidding. A ghost, as I trust that you are all aware by now, is the imprint of a departed soul left upon the earth . . . and of course, as Potter so wisely tells us, transparent.”

“Well, what Harry said is the most useful if we’re trying to tell them apart!” says Ron. “When we come face-to-face with one down a dark alley, we’re going to be having a shift to see if it’s solid, aren’t we, we’re not going to be asking, ‘Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?’”

There is a ripple of laughter, instantly quelled by the look Snape gives the class.

“Another ten points from Gryffindor,” says Snape. “I would expect nothing more sophisticated from you, Ronald Weasley, the boy so solid he cannot Apparate half an inch across a room.”

“No!” whispers Hermione, grabbing Harry’s arm as he opens his mouth furiously. “There’s no point, you’ll just end up in detention again, leave it!”

I absolutely hate Snape, and on a good day I would already be in detention for giving it to him just as good as he gives it, but this is not a good day.

“Now open your books to page two hundred and thirteen,” says Snape, smirking a little, “and read the first two paragraphs on the Cruciatus Curse . . .”

Ron is very subdued all through the class. When the bell sounds at the end of the lesson, Lavender catches up with Ron, Harry, and me (Hermione mysteriously melts out of sight as she approaches) and abuses Snape hotly for his jibe about Ron’s Apparition, but this seems to merely irritate Ron, and he shakes her off by making a detour into the boys’ bathroom with Harry.

I only smirk lightly before changing directions to meet up with Luka in the library. We’re actually going to study for once, Merlin help him if he actually thinks that I’m going to do any studying at all.

* * *

 

Next weekend comes and Ron, Hermione, Luka, Ariana, and I along with the rest of the eligible sixth years get to go to Hogsmeade to practice for our Apparation test which is in a fortnight. Harry was disappointed that he wouldn’t be going along with the rest of us for he dearly misses Hogsmeade, but I could tell that he was going to be able to occupy himself.

I was right when he told us that he planned to scour the seventh floor again and try to break into the Room of Requirement. Hermione thought that he should be trying harder on Slughorn, but the fact is that Harry has been trying really hard with Slughorn.

While at Hogsmeade we manage to have some fun. Ariana and I are able to Apparate next to each other, and we manage to do it a few more times each, which is encouraging. Luka on the other hand is almost as perfect at Apparating as Hermione is. I swear that the two of them were competing for top performance the whole time. Ron was having some troubles but after a while he finally managed to figure it out, much to the happiness of the rest of us.

Harry found Ron, Hermione, and me in the Great Hall, already halfway through an early lunch.

“I did it — well, kind of!” Ron tells Harry enthusiastically when he catches sight of him. “I was supposed to be Apparating outside Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop and I overshot it a bit, ended up near Scrivenshaft’s, but at least I moved!”

“Good one,” says Harry. “How’d you do, Hermione?”

“Oh, she was perfect, obviously,” says Ron, before Hermione could answer. “Perfect deliberation, divination, and desperation or whatever the hell it is — we all went for a quick drink in the Three Broomsticks after and you should’ve heard Twycross going on about her — I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t pop the question soon —”

“And what about you?” asks Hermione, ignoring Ron. “Have you been up at the Room of Requirement all this time?”

“Yep,” says Harry. “And guess who I ran into up there? Tonks!”

“Tonks?” repeats Ron, Hermione, and I together, looking surprised.

“What’s she doing here?” I ask.

“Yeah, she said she’d come to visit Dumbledore . . .” Harry says.

“If you ask me,” says Ron once Harry has finished describing his conversation with Tonks, “she’s cracking up a bit. Losing her nerve after what happened at the Ministry.”

“It’s a bit odd,” says Hermione, who for some reason looks very concerned. “She’s supposed to be guarding the school, why’s she suddenly abandoning her post to come and see Dumbledore when he’s not even here?”

“I had a thought,” says Harry tentatively. “You don’t think she can have been . . . you know . . . in love with Sirius?”

Hermione stares at him. What a weird question is that?

“What on earth makes you say that?” She demands.

“I dunno,” says Harry, shrugging, “but she was nearly crying when I mentioned his name . . . and her Patronus is a big four-legged thing now . . . I wondered whether it hadn’t become . . . you know . . . him.”

“It’s a thought,” says Hermione slowly. “But I still don’t know why she’d be bursting into the castle to see Dumbledore, if that’s really why she was here. . . .”

“It could be that Sirius was her cousin.” I say. All three of them turn to look at me with wide eyes.

“Hello, Pendragon here— had to take years of pureblood etiquette and history? Yeah Sirius’ sister’s daughter is Tonks.” I say. They blink for a moment Ron decides to speak again.

“Goes back to what I said, doesn’t it?” says Ron, who starts shoveling mashed potato into his mouth. “She’s gone a bit funny. Lost her nerve. Women,” he says wisely to Harry, “they’re easily upset.”

“And yet,” says Hermione, coming out of her reverie, “I doubt you’d find a woman who sulked for half an hour because Madam Rosmerta didn’t laugh at their joke about the hag, the Healer, and the Mimbulus mimbletonia.”

Ron scowls, and I smirk with Hermione while high fiving across the table. Boys, I swear sometimes it’s just too easy.


	16. Finally a Little Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 16- Finally a little Luck

 

Patches of bright blue sky are beginning to appear over the castle turrets, but these signs of approaching summer do not lift Harry’s mood. He has been thwarted, both in his attempts to find out what Malfoy is doing, and in his efforts to start a conversation with Slughorn that might lead, somehow, to Slughorn handing over the memory he has apparently suppressed for decades. So all in all Harry has been a right pain in the arse.

“For the last time, just forget about Malfoy,” Hermione tells Harry firmly.

We are sitting with Ron in a sunny corner of the courtyard after lunch. Hermione, Ron, and I are all clutching a Ministry of Magic leaflet — Common Apparition Mistakes and How to Avoid Them — for we are taking our tests this very afternoon, but by and large the leaflets have not proved soothing to the nerves. Not one bit.

Ron gives a start and tries to hide behind Hermione as a girl comes around the corner.

“It isn’t Lavender,” says Hermione wearily.

“If it was we would have smelt her hair coming before she did.” I say scrunching up my nose. I had long since gone smell blind to the amount of perfume and hair products in the room, but the amount that she wore around always stuck out.

“Oh, good,” says Ron, relaxing.

“Harry Potter?” says the girl. “I was asked to give you this.”

“Thanks . . .”

Once the girl is out of earshot he says, “Dumbledore said we wouldn’t be having any more lessons until I get the memory!”

“Maybe he wants to check on how you’re doing?” suggests Hermione, as Harry unrolls the parchment. I can tell by the look on his face that it wasn’t what he was expecting at all.

I move closer to Harry and lean over his shoulder in order to read what’s on the paper.

 

Dear Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Jamie,

 

Aragog died last night. Harry, Jamie, Ron, you met him, and you know how special he was. Hermione, I know you’d have liked him. It would mean a lot to me if you’d nip down for the burial later this evening. I’m planning on doing it round dusk that was his favorite time of day. I know you’re not supposed to be out that late, but you can use the cloak. Wouldn’t ask, but I can’t face it alone.

 

Hagrid

 

I can’t believe that he would think that I would ever be sad for that beast. It tried to eat us!

“Look at this,” says Harry, handing the note to Hermione.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she says, scanning it quickly and passing it to Ron, who reads it through looking increasingly incredulous.

“He’s mental!” he says furiously. “That thing told its mates to eat Harry, Jamie and me! Told them to help themselves! And now Hagrid expects us to go down there and cry over its horrible hairy body!”

“It’s not just that,” says Hermione. “He’s asking us to leave the castle at night and he knows security’s a million times tighter and how much trouble we’d be in if we were caught.”

“We’ve been down to see him by night before,” says Harry.

“Not like this.” I say shaking my head.

“Yes, but for something like this?” says Hermione. “We’ve risked a lot to help Hagrid out, but after all — Aragog’s dead. If it were a question of saving him —”

“— I’d want to go even less,” says Ron firmly. “You didn’t meet him, Hermione. Believe me, being dead will have improved him a lot.”

Harry turns to me and I shift guiltily in my spot. I’ve grown to appreciate and love Hagrid even more since we now spend so much one on one time together in class, but I kind of can’t tonight.

“I can’t.” I say.

“Why not?” Harry demands starting to get a little angry at all of our refusals.

“I kinda have a date.” I say feeling heat rush to my cheeks. Ron chokes, and Hermione’s smile nearly splits her face in half. Yesterday Ariana had come up to me with a single snapdragon and asked me out for a date tonight.

Harry takes the note back and stares down at all the inky blotches all over it. Tears have clearly fallen thick and fast upon the parchment . . .

“Harry, you can’t be thinking of going,” says Hermione. “It’s such a pointless thing to get detention for.”

Harry sighs. “Yeah, I know,” he says. “I s’pose Hagrid’ll have to bury Aragog without us.”

“Yes, he will,” says Hermione, looking relieved. “Look, Potions will be almost empty this afternoon, with us all off doing our tests. . . . Try and soften Slughorn up a bit then!”

“Fifty-seventh time lucky, you think?” says Harry bitterly.

“That’s the attitude!” I exclaim slapping him on the back.

“Lucky,” says Ron suddenly. “Harry, that’s it — get lucky!”

“What d’you mean?”

“Use your lucky potion!”

“Ron, that’s — that’s it!” says Hermione, sounding stunned. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of it?”

Harry stares at them both and I feel a smile creeping on my face. “Felix Felicis?” he says. “I dunno . . . I was sort of saving it. . . .”

“What for?” demands Ron incredulously.

“What on earth is more important than this memory, Harry?” asks Hermione.

I watch as Harry sort of drifts off into his own mind for a little bit.

“Harry? Are you still with us?” asks Hermione.

“Wha — ? Yeah, of course,” he says, pulling himself together. “Well . . . okay. If I can’t get Slughorn to talk this afternoon, I’ll take some Felix and have another go this evening.”

“That’s decided, then,” says Hermione briskly, getting to her feet and performing a graceful pirouette. “Destination . . . determination . . . deliberation . . .” she murmurs.

“Oh, stop that,” Ron begs her, “I feel sick enough as it is — quick, hide me!”

“It isn’t Lavender!” says Hermione impatiently, as another couple of girls appear in the courtyard and Ron dives behind her.

“Cool,” said Ron, peering over Hermione’s shoulder to check. “Blimey, they don’t look happy, do they?”

“They’re the Montgomery sisters and of course they don’t look happy, didn’t you hear what happened to their little brother?” says Hermione.

“I’m losing track of what’s happening to everyone’s relatives, to be honest,” says Ron.

“Well, their brother was attacked by a werewolf. The rumor is that their mother refused to help the Death Eaters. Anyway, the boy was only five and he died in St. Mungo’s, they couldn’t save him.” I explain shuddering at the thought of getting news about something like that from home. I don’t think I could handle it.

“He died?” repeats Harry, shocked. “But surely werewolves don’t kill, they just turn you into one of them?”

“They sometimes kill,” says Ron, who looks unusually grave now. “I’ve heard of it happening when the werewolf gets carried away.”

“What was the werewolf’s name?” says Harry quickly.

“Well, the rumor is that it was that Fenrir Greyback,” says Hermione.

“I knew it — the maniac who likes attacking kids, the one Lupin told me about!” says Harry angrily.

Hermione looks at him bleakly.

“Harry, you’ve got to get that memory,” she says. “It’s all about stopping Voldemort, isn’t it? These dreadful things that are happening are all down to him . . .”

The bell rings overhead in the castle and Hermione, Ron, and I jump to our feet, I’m sure looking terrified.

“You’ll do fine,” Harry tells us, as we head towards the entrance hall to meet the rest of the people taking their Apparition Test. “Good luck.”

“And you too!” says Hermione with a significant look, as Harry heads off to the dungeons.

“Well I guess that it’s now or never.” I say swallowing nervously trying to see if I can spot my girlfriend of brother to make this experience easier.

* * *

 

Ron, Hermione, and I return in the late afternoon. It had been a long wait and a nerve wracking experience, but in the end all the studying with Luka and Ariana, then subsequently Ron, and Hermione paid off.

It wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it’d be.

“Harry!” cries Hermione as she climbs through the portrait hole. “Harry, I passed!”

“Well done!” he says. “Jamie?”

“Did it in a minute— so they say. Ariana and Luka passed as well.” I inform Harry in case he was curious about others.

“And Ron?” Harry asks worriedly.

“He — he just failed,” whispers Hermione, as Ron comes slouching into the room looking most morose. “It was really unlucky, a tiny thing, the examiner just spotted that he’d left half an eyebrow behind. . . . How did it go with Slughorn?”

“No joy,” says Harry, as Ron joins us. “Bad luck, mate, but you’ll pass next time — we can take it together.”

“Yeah, I s’pose,” says Ron grumpily. “But half an eyebrow! Like that matters!”

“I know,” says Hermione soothingly, “it does seem really harsh . . .”

We spend most of our dinner roundly abusing the Apparition examiner, and Ron looks fractionally more cheerful by the time we set off back to the common room, now discussing the continuing problem of Slughorn and the memory.

“So, Harry — you going to use the Felix Felicis or what?” Ron demands.

“It might be the safest thing to do now.” I reason softly.

“Yeah, I s’pose I’d better,” says Harry. “I don’t reckon I’ll need all of it, not twelve hours’ worth, it can’t take all night. . . . I’ll just take a mouthful. Two or three hours should do it.”

“It’s a great feeling when you take it,” says Ron reminiscently. “Like you can’t do anything wrong.”

“What are you talking about?” says Hermione, laughing. “You’ve never taken any!”

“Yeah, but I thought I had, didn’t I?” says Ron, as though explaining the obvious.  “Same difference really . . .”

As we have only just seen Slughorn enter the Great Hall and know that he likes to take time over meals, we linger for a while in the common room, the plan being that Harry should go to Slughorn’s office once the teacher had had time to get back there.  When the sun has sunk to the level of the treetops in the Forbidden Forest, we decide the moment had come, and after checking carefully that Neville, Dean, and Seamus are all in the common room, sneak up to the boys’ dormitory.

Harry takes out the rolled-up socks at the bottom of his trunk and extracts the tiny, gleaming bottle.

“Well, here goes,” says Harry, and he raises the little bottle and takes a carefully measured gulp.

“What does it feel like?” whispers Hermione. The anticipation and the nerves are beginning to get to me.

Harry doesn’t answer for a long moment. “Harry…” I say and cautiously put a hand on his shoulder. At that moment Harry decides to come back to life startling me.

“Excellent,” he says. “Really excellent. Right . . . I’m going down to Hagrid’s.”

“What?” say Ron, Hermione, and I together, looking aghast.

“No, Harry — you’ve got to go and see Slughorn, remember?” says Hermione.

“No,” says Harry confidently. “I’m going to Hagrid’s, I’ve got a good feeling about going to Hagrid’s.”

“You’ve got a good feeling about burying a giant spider?” asks Ron, looking stunned.

“Yeah,” says Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. “I feel like it’s the place to be tonight, you know what I mean?”

“No,” say Ron and Hermione together, both looking positively alarmed now.

“I guess if you think it’s right then, you know better then I do…” I say still wary at this seemingly new Harry that has all of the sudden sprouted up.

“This is Felix Felicis, I suppose?” says Hermione anxiously, holding up the bottle to the light. “You haven’t got another little bottle full of — I don’t know —”

“Essence of Insanity?” suggests Ron, as Harry swings his Cloak over his shoulders.

Harry laughs, and Ron, Hermione, and even I look more alarmed.

“Trust me,” he says. “I know what I’m doing . . . or at least” — he strolls confidently to the door — “Felix does.”

He pulls the Invisibility Cloak over his head and sets off down the stairs, Ron, Hermione, and I hurrying along behind him. At the foot of the stairs, Harry slides through the open door.

“What were you doing up there with her?” shrieks Lavender Brown, staring right through Harry at Ron and Hermione emerging together from the boys’ dormitories. Well I’m here as well, but as we’ve all known for many years now, that I’m not on Lavender’s radar when it comes to these things.

I slip out from behind the two of them and make it over to cover.

“Lav—” Ron tries.

“NO I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT!”

I carefully seat myself into a chair and watch along with morbid fascination as well as the other Gryffindors who are currently in the common room. Unfortunately there is no reprieve from conflict as an equally as warring pair comes thundering into the room.

“Don’t push me, please, Dean,” Ginny says, sounding annoyed. “You’re always doing that, I can get through perfectly well on my own . . .”

“I didn’t do anything! Besides whenever I do that I’m just trying to be nice—” Dean starts.

“More like patronizing—”

“SHE’S BEEN WANTING YOU FOR HERSELF ALL ALONG—”

“Lavender please—”

“You’re just too stubborn—”

“A HARLOT—”

“I did no such thing—”

Honestly I couldn’t tell you what exactly was going on at the moment and who was yelling at whom. There was Lavender, Hermione, and Ron fighting by the stairs to the boy’s dormitory, and Ginny and Dean rowing near the portrait hole. As like with most things in my life, I found myself caught between the two, and honestly not liking either of my options. I guess its just no the night for lovers.

Suddenly there’s the crack of a hand meeting a cheek, and I watch open mouthed as Lavender smacks Ron. He stands there gaping almost like he cannot believe that she just did that. I don’t think that anyone believed that she actually had it in her to do that.

With that she turns around crying and running out of the common room with Parvati following after her. Ron and Hermione are standing there frozen, unsure of what exactly just happened. I’m pretty sure that Ron and Lavender just broke up though.

“If it pains you to be with such a strong, outspoken woman so much then, you don’t have to worry anymore. I’m not yours to think of anymore.” Ginny says loudly, and I turn my attention there to see a fuming Dean looking like he is half wanting to hit her and half wanting to yell.

I get up from my chair and move to intercept the brewing fight.

I make it to Ginny’s side, and she casts me a sideways look. “It’s okay Jamie. I think that Dean was just leaving.” She says coolly. I watch as Dean’s jaw clenches for a moment, before relaxing as he slumps into a defeated posture pushing past people and up to his room.

“I think I’m going to need some time.” Ginny says deflating herself. I nod my head understandingly, and give her arm a rub, before she disappears up the stairs to the girl’s dormitories.

* * *

 

A few hours later it’s just Hermione and me in our room. Ron had needed some alone time as well, something in which to the two siblings have in common; though they both would be loath to admit it.

I have to admit that I’m more than a little nervous for my date. It’s one of the first ones that we’ve actually managed to go on, and I really don’t want to disappoint her. There’s also the fact that my one friend is gallivanting around the castle grounds on a mood-altering potion and that two couples broke up tonight.

I don’t want to be insensitive to Ginny or Ron by going out to have a date with my girlfriend.

“Hey.” Hermione says directing my attention over to her. She has an Ancient Runes textbook propped up in her lap, and she’s giving me an odd look.

“What?” I ask looking at her upside down from where I had flopped onto my bed.

“Don’t you have a date to get ready for?” Hermione asks me. I raise an eyebrow at her.

“You really think that going on a date tonight is a good idea after everything that’s been going on here tonight?” I ask her.

Hermione snorts at me and closes her book. She slides off her bed and goes to my trunk sorting through it looking for something.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Finding something for you to wear so Ariana thinks that you at least put some effort into looking nice for her.” Hermione says simply.

“Jamie has a date with the young Dumbledore?” Ginny’s voice echoes from the doorway tinged with amusement.

“Yes, I have a date with her. How are you doing by the way?” I ask nervously not exactly sure how to tread this subject with a newly broken up sister.

“Cool. You’re going to love it. She’s been worried about this idea for weeks. You don’t know how many times I’ve had to tell her that it’s a good idea before she finally calmed down enough to actually ask you and commit to a plan.” She huffs making her way over to Hermione, and consulting with her over my clothes.

“Y-you’re not upset since you and Dean just split?” I ask still unsure of how to treat Ginny since she walked away earlier.

“I’m fine Jamie, a little sad that another relationship didn’t work out, but okay.” Ginny says softly. “Besides something good needs to come of tonight.”

Hermione holds up a shirt to my sister and they both nod their heads in agreement.

“Put this on, and we’ll get you a bottom.” I bite my lip as I glance at the blouse that they’ve chosen. It’s more feminine than I usually like to dress, but I do really want to impress Ariana, so I give up and change into the shirt. It’s a deep blue color that Ginny says really brings out the blue in my eyes. They find a black skirt from Merlin knows where in my trunk and toss it to me as well.

After donning flats, they move me over to the mirror where they proceed to mess with my hair and attempt to force makeup on my face. That’s where I draw the line though, and they get to only put a small layer of lip-gloss on my lips. In the end I can hardly recognize myself.

Gone is the wild rough and tumble girl that I could recognize, and in its place is a pretty young lady.

“You’re beautiful Jamie.” Hermione says, a happy smile on her face. I blush at the comment.

“Yeah you’re going to knock the air right out of Ariana’s chest.” Ginny says with a pleased and proud grin. After thanking the both of them, they shove me out of the room and on my way to my date. I have to be careful in my navigation of the hallways so that I don’t get caught, but by the time that I make it up to the top of the Astronomy tower I knew that it was worth the trouble.

Small floating balls of white light are suspended in the air providing a light glow to the rooftop, but that’s only part of the magic. There is a red blanket laid out on the floor, with a basket. Standing there fidgeting nervously looking absolutely beautiful in a knockout red dress is none other than my love Ariana Dumbledore.

In her hand is another snapdragon, and I can’t help but smile at the sweetness of the gesture again. “You look gorgeous, and this whole set up… it’s amazing.” I say looking around at the transformed rooftop again. Ariana’s smile is so bright that I swear it lights up the night.

“You look spectacular Jamie. I can’t believe that we’re finally here.” She breathes holding out the flower to me, and I take it delicately with my fingers.

“I’ve been looking forward to it all day. It’s the perfect celebration for passing our Apparation tests.” I tell her. Ariana gestures for us to sit down on the blanket and we make ourselves comfortable. She opens up the basket and I can’t help but laugh as she pulls out two bottles of Butterbeer. “Now where did you get that?”

“I have my connections. Security of the kitchens has been beefed up for a while since the food war of Hufflepuff common room a few days ago, so I couldn’t sneak in there, but luckily for me I know a pair of very crafty redheaded twins who were very sympathetic to my plight.” Ariana says with a grin.

I shake my heads chuckling at my brothers all the while silently thanking them for being two of the best people on this planet that I know. She takes the time to pour the drink into two mugs that she also produces from the basket.

I just sit there thanking Merlin that I have a girlfriend who cared enough to go out of her way to do this for me. Unable to help myself I lean across the basket and kiss her. This is by far my favorite thing to do with Ariana. I love every moment that I’m with her, but being able to feel the connection between us when our lips collide is the single greatest thing I’ve experienced in my life.

I don’t know what Harry’s feeling right now from Felix Felicis, but I think that kissing Ariana Dumbledore would feel a thousand times better than that. Quickly the kiss between us gets more heated, and our hands get involved pulling each other closer together.

After I don’t even know how long, we finally pull back from our make out session to breathe. Our breathing is heavy and our made up hair is out of place in a few areas, and I’m sure that her heart is beating as fast as mine is.

We sit and talk for a long time drinking our Butterbeers until there is nothing left, and we’ve put them aside so that we can lie on our backs on the blanket and look up at the stars. Everything about the night has been so perfect, and being up here on top of the Astronomy tower, looking at the infinite stars, cuddled close to my girlfriend, makes me believe that everything is right in the world if only for a moment.

After a long silence I decided to break it.

“Ron and Lavender broke up tonight.” I state softly, nuzzling my face further into Ariana’s shoulder. She hums in response to my action.

“Really? That’s a shame.” She says and I snort.

“Please no one really liked Lavender and Ron together. They were disgustingly annoying.” I shiver. Ariana chuckles lightly and scratches her nails lightly up my back, causing me to shiver.

“True.” She admits.

“Ginny and Dean broke up as well.” I continue.

“I can’t say that I’m surprised on that one Jame. They’ve been rocky for a long time. I think that was inevitably in the cards for them.” Ariana tells me. Its my turn to sigh now.

“I know. I just want my sister to be happy that’s all. She deserves to be as happy as I am with you. So do Ron and Luka for that matter.” I say.

“They’ll find the right people for them when they come along. For now don’t worry about them. Let’s just enjoy this night for a little while longer.” She says tightening her grip on me. I let out a satisfied sigh, and sink look back up at the stars.

Yes, there’s no need to worry about anything else right now. All there is at the moment are the stars, Ariana, and me. It’s perfect.

* * *

 

Exhausted but delighted with his night’s work, Harry tells Ron, Hermione, and me everything that happened during next morning’s Charms lesson (having first cast the Muffliato spell upon those nearest us). We are impressed by the way he wheedled the memory out of Slughorn and positively awed when he tells us about Voldemort’s Horcruxes and Dumbledore’s promise to take Harry along, should he find another one.

“Wow,” says Ron, when Harry has finally finished telling us everything; Ron is waving his wand very vaguely in the direction of the ceiling without paying the slightest bit of attention to what he is doing. “Wow. You’re actually going to go with Dumbledore . . . and try and destroy . . . wow.”

“I-isn’t that kind of dangerous?” I ask nervously not liking the idea of Harry going off to do something incredibly dangerous when I’m not around to help him out, even when he’ll have Professor Dumbledore around to help him out.

“Ron, you’re making it snow,” says Hermione patiently, grabbing his wrist and redirecting his wand away from the ceiling from which, sure enough, large white flakes have started to fall. Lavender Brown, I notice, glares at Hermione from a neighboring table through very red eyes, and Hermione immediately lets go of Ron’s arm.

“Oh yeah,” says Ron, looking down at his shoulders in vague surprise. “Sorry . . . looks like we’ve all got horrible dandruff now. . . .”

He brushes some of the fake snow off Hermione’s shoulder. Lavender bursts into tears. Ron looks immensely guilty and turns his back on her.

“What’s that all about?” Harry asks, looking seriously intrigued.

“We split up,” Ron tells Harry out of the corner of his mouth. “Last night. When she saw me coming out of the dormitory with Hermione. Obviously she couldn’t see you, so she thought it had just been the two of us, though she ignored Jamie completely.”

“What can I say, I am the master of dealing with Lavender.” I grin.

“Ah,” says Harry. “Well — you don’t mind it’s over, do you?”

“No,” Ron admits. “It was pretty bad while she was yelling, but at least I didn’t have to finish it.”

“Coward,” says Hermione, though she looks amused. “Well, it was a bad night for romance all around except for Jamie and Ariana. Ginny and Dean split up too, Harry.”

I could see how much the news pleased Harry even though he was trying to keep a straight face the entire time. “How come?” He asks trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, something really silly . . . She said he was always trying to help her through the portrait hole, like she couldn’t climb in herself . . . but they’ve been a bit rocky for ages.” I explain.

Harry and I glance over at Dean on the other side of the classroom. He certainly looks unhappy.

“Of course, this puts you in a bit of a dilemma, doesn’t it?” says Hermione.

“What d’you mean?” says Harry quickly.

“The Quidditch team,” says Hermione. “If Ginny and Dean aren’t speaking . . .”

“Oh — oh yeah,” says Harry.

“Great just what we need. More drama in Quidditch.” I grumble, rubbing my temples.

“Flitwick,” says Ron in a warning tone. The tiny little Charms master is bobbing his way towards us, and Hermione and I are the only ones who has managed to turn vinegar into wine; our glass flasks are full of deep crimson liquid, whereas the contents of Harry’s and Ron’s are still murky brown.

“Now, now, boys,” squeaks Professor Flitwick reproachfully. “A little less talk, a little more action . . . Let me see you try. . . .”

Together they raise their wands, concentrating with all their might, and point them at their flasks. Harry’s vinegar turns to ice; Ron’s flask explodes.

“Yes . . . for homework,” says Professor Flitwick, reemerging from under the table and pulling shards of glass out of the top of his hat, “practice.”

We have one of our rare joint free periods after Charms and walk back to the common room together. Ron seems to be positively lighthearted about the end of his relationship with Lavender, and Hermione seems cheery too, though when asked what she is grinning about she simply says, “It’s a nice day.”

I’m happy with the memory of my date with Ariana last night, but I can see that there is something troubling Harry. I’ve learned by now though to let Harry have a chance to work all this out on his own first.

We are climbing through the portrait hole into the sunny common room, and only vaguely register the small group of seventh years clustered together there, until Hermione cries, “Katie! You’re back! Are you okay?”

I jump when I realize that my teammate is back and looking perfectly healthy and happy.

“Katie!” I cry racing forward and hugging the girl, much to her amusement.

“You’re not allowed to leave like that ever again! You scared me to death, and the team suffered!” I say seriously after letting go.

“I’m really well!” Katie says happily. “They let me out of St. Mungo’s on Monday, I had a couple of days at home with Mum and Dad and then came back here this morning. Leanne was just telling me about McLaggen and the last match, Harry. . . .”

“Yeah,” says Harry coming up to us, “well, now you’re back and Ron’s fit, we’ll have a decent chance of thrashing Ravenclaw, which means we could still be in the running for the Cup. Listen, Katie . . .”

“. . . that necklace . . . can you remember who gave it to you now?”

“No,” says Katie, shaking her head ruefully. “Everyone’s been asking me, but I haven’t got a clue. The last thing I remember was walking into the ladies’ in the Three Broomsticks.”

“You definitely went into the bathroom, then?” says Hermione.

“Well, I know I pushed open the door,” says Katie, “so I suppose whoever Imperiused me was standing just behind it. After that, my memory’s a blank until about two weeks ago in St. Mungo’s. Listen, I’d better go, I wouldn’t put it past McGonagall to give me lines even if it is my first day back. . . .”

She gathers up her bag and books and hurries after her friends, leaving Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me to sit down at a window table and ponder what she has told us.

“So it must have been a girl or a woman who gave Katie the necklace,” says Hermione, “to be in the ladies’ bathroom.”

“When has a gendered restroom ever stopped bad men before?” I say rolling my eyes.

“Or someone who looked like a girl or a woman,” says Harry. “Don’t forget, there was a cauldron full of Polyjuice Potion at Hogwarts. We know some of it got stolen. . . .”

“I think I’m going to take another swig of Felix,” says Harry, “and have a go at the Room of Requirement again.”

“That would be a complete waste of potion,” says Hermione flatly, putting down the copy of Spellman’s Syllabary she has just taken out of her bag. “Luck can only get you so far, Harry. The situation with Slughorn was different; you always had the ability to persuade him, you just needed to tweak the circumstances a bit. Luck isn’t enough to get you through a powerful enchantment, though. Don’t go wasting the rest of that potion! You’ll need all the luck you can get if Dumbledore takes you along with him . . .” She drops her voice to a whisper.

“Couldn’t we make some more?” Ron asks Harry, ignoring Hermione. “It’d be great to have a stock of it. . . . Have a look in the book . . .”

Harry pulls his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and looks up Felix Felicis.

“Blimey, it’s seriously complicated,” he says, running an eye down the list of ingredients. “And it takes six months . . . You’ve got to let it stew. . . .”

“Typical,” says Ron.

“Well if it was easy then we’d have a lot of lucky idiots walking around, and that would be bloody disastrous I point out.

The only person who is not particularly pleased to see Katie Bell back at school is Dean Thomas, because he will no longer be required to fill her place as Chaser. He tales the blow stoically enough when Harry tells him, merely grunting and shrugging, but I have the distinct feeling as he walks away that Dean and Seamus are muttering mutinously behind Harry’s back, and I shake my head.

The following fortnight comes the best Quidditch practices Harry has known as Captain. The team is so pleased to be rid of McLaggen, so glad to have Katie back at last, that we are flying extremely well.

Ginny does not seem at all upset about the breakup with Dean; on the contrary, she is the life and soul of the team. Her imitations of Ron anxiously bobbing up and down in front of the goalposts as the Quaffle speeds toward him, or of Harry bellowing orders at McLaggen before being knocked out cold, keep all highly amused.

I roll my eyes as Harry obtains a few bludger related injuries by staring at Ginny. I don’t know when he’s going to come to his sense and pull his big boy trousers on, and just tell her that he likes her. It’s driving me nuts the way he agonizes over it yet never does anything about it or talks to us about it.

The balmy days slide gently through May. The final Quidditch game of the season is looming; Ron wants to talk tactics with Harry all the time and has little thought for anything else. Our entire world as Gryffindors seems to be set on this. I love Quidditch as much as the next gal, but even I need a break from talking about it sometimes, so I find myself holing up with Ariana and Luka more often than not, for if I hear Ron talking about wind conditions and proper ball placement one more time I will punch him.

Ron is not unique in this respect; interest in the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw game is running extremely high throughout the school, for the match will decide the Championship, which is still wide open. If Gryffindor beats Ravenclaw by a margin of three hundred points (a tall order, and yet we have never flown better) then we will win the Championship. If we win by less than three hundred points, we will come second to Ravenclaw; if we lose by a hundred points we will be third behind Hufflepuff and if we lose by more than a hundred, we will be in fourth place and nobody, I think, will ever, ever let Harry forget that it was he who captained Gryffindor to their first bottom-of-the-table defeat in two centuries.

The run-up to this crucial match has all the usual features: members of rival Houses attempting to intimidate opposing teams in the corridors; unpleasant chants about individual players being rehearsed loudly as they pass; the team members themselves either swaggering around enjoying all the attention or else dashing into bathrooms between classes to throw up.

Ron is one of the ones usually running to throw up. I honestly don’t like the attention, but it doesn’t bother me too much any more. It was less than a week away from the final match when the most shocking news came. Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Ron, and I never made it down to dinner that night. We were all too shocked and absorbed in the story that Harry was telling us.

I can’t believe that something like this had happened, that Harry could do something like this. I can’t believe that Harry used a curse for enemies Sectumsempra from that blasted potions book of his.

The news traveled very fast: Apparently Moaning Myrtle took it upon herself to pop up in every bathroom in the castle to tell the story; Malfoy has already been visited in the hospital wing by Pansy Parkinson, who has lost no time in vilifying Harry far and wide, and Snape has told the staff precisely what happened. Harry has already been called out of the common room to endure fifteen highly unpleasant minutes in the company of Professor McGonagall, who told him he was lucky not to have been expelled and that she supports wholeheartedly Snape’s punishment of detention every Saturday until the end of term.

“I told you there was something wrong with that Prince person,” Hermione says, evidently unable to stop herself. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”

“No, I don’t think you were,” says Harry stubbornly.

Harry will not be able to play the final game of the season now against Ravenclaw. He had told the team earlier that Ginny will replace him as Seeker, and that Dean will take up the Chaser position again. I bit my lip the whole time, trying to wrap my head around everything that had happened again.

“Harry,” says Hermione snapping me back to the present, “how can you still stick up for that book when that spell —”

“Will you stop harping on about the book!” snaps Harry. “The Prince only copied it out! It’s not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!”

“I don’t believe this,” says Hermione. “You’re actually defending —”

“I’m not defending what I did!” says Harry quickly. “I wish I hadn’t done it, and not just because I’ve got about a dozen detentions. You know I wouldn’t’ve used a spell like that, not even on Malfoy, but you can’t blame the Prince, he hadn’t written ‘try this out, it’s really good’ — he was just making notes for himself, wasn’t he, not for anyone else. . . .”

“Are you telling me,” says Hermione, “that you’re going to go back — ?”

“And get the book? Yeah, I am,” says Harry forcefully. “Listen, without the Prince I’d never have won the Felix Felicis. I’d never have known how to save Ron from poisoning, I’d never have —”

“Harry—” I try, but I’m cut off by Hermione.

“— got a reputation for Potions brilliance you don’t deserve,” says Hermione nastily.

“Give it a rest, Hermione!” says Ginny, and Harry is so amazed, so grateful, he looked up. “By the sound of it, Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!”

“Well, of course I’m glad Harry wasn’t cursed!” says Hermione, clearly stung. “But you can’t call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny, look where it’s landed him! And I’d have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match —”

“Oh, don’t start acting as though you understand Quidditch,” snaps Ginny, “you’ll only embarrass yourself.”

Harry, Ron, and I stare: Hermione and Ginny, who have always got on together very well, are now sitting with their arms folded, glaring in opposite directions. Ron looks nervously at Harry, then snatches up a book at random and hides behind it.

“Um…” I start but the glares I get from Hermione, and Ginny cause me to snap my mouth shut. No one speaks again for the rest of the evening.

* * *

 

I still can hardly believe it. We won. We actually won. It was probably one of the singularly brilliant games that we have played, and Harry wasn’t even there. He’s going to kick himself for getting detention and not being able to show up. It was quite possibly one of the hardest games that I had to play as well.

Having to score three hundred points between three people is no small feat. Not to mention when your right forearm is shattered thanks to a bludger. Madam Pomfrey was able to heal it much to Ariana’s relief, but to be able to be released from the hospital wing I had to agree to wear a sling, so here I am one arm strapped to me, and a butterbeer in hand, celebrating with the rest of the Gryffindors while we wait for Harry to arrive.

The festivities and pain medication was beginning to go to my head a little. Even though Ariana is not here and allowed to be in our common room, I can still hear her stern advice in my head. ‘Don’t over do it Jamie. You celebrate but make sure to get your rest as well.’

Suddenly the portrait hole swings open and in comes a very nervous looking Harry. He gapes as people begin to scream at the sight of him; several hands pull him into the room.

“We won!” yells Ron, bounding into sight and brandishing the silver Cup at Harry. “We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!”

What takes my attention though is Ginny making a straight path to Harry. It is only a flicker but I can see the determination on his face. When she gets close enough to him she throws her arms around him, and without hesitation Harry leans forward and kisses her.

All I can say is it’s about time.

After several long moments — or it might have been half an hour — or possibly several sunlit days — they break apart (please tell me Ariana and I aren’t like that). The room has gone very quiet. Then several people wolf-whistle and there is an outbreak of nervous giggling. I look around to see Dean Thomas holding a shattered glass in his hand, and Romilda Vane looking as though she may throw something. Hermione is beaming, but I look at Ron. He is still clutching the Cup and wearing an expression appropriate to having been clubbed over the head. I watch as for a fraction of a second Harry and Ron look at each other, then Ron gives a tiny jerk of the head that I understand to mean, Well — if you must.

Harry gestures to the portrait hole and the two of them walk away, the party getting back into full swing. I make my way over to the dormitory stairs and Hermione joins me.

“About time right?” She says with an impish grin.

“Yep, all we need now is for you and the dumbstruck one over there to get your heads out of your arses.” I say with a grin. Hermione is frozen in her place flushing eleven different shades of red and I laugh triumphantly as I haul my aching body up the steps. I always get the last laugh.


	17. Prepare to Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 17- Prepare to Fall

 

The fact that Harry Potter is going out with Ginny Weasley seems to interest a great number of people, most of them girls, yet Harry seems to be newly and happily impervious to gossip over the next few weeks.

“You’d think people had better things to gossip about,” says Ginny, as she sits on the common room floor, leaning against Harry’s legs and reading the Daily Prophet. “Three dementor attacks in a week, and all Romilda Vane does is ask me if it’s true you’ve got a hippogriff tattooed across your chest.”

I sputter a cough not wanting to picture, or know that answer.

“So happy I avoid her.” I mutter.

Ron and Hermione both roar with laughter. Harry ignores the three of us.

“What did you tell her?” Harry asks.

“I told her it’s a Hungarian Horntail,” says Ginny, turning a page of the newspaper idly. “Much more macho.”

“Thanks,” says Harry, grinning. “And what did you tell her Ron’s got?”

“A Pygmy Puff, but I didn’t say where.”

Ron scowls as Hermione rolls around laughing, I can’t help but join her on that one.

“Watch it,” he says, pointing warningly at Harry and Ginny. “Just because I’ve given my permission doesn’t mean I can’t withdraw it —”

“‘Your permission,’” scoffs Ginny. “Since when did you give me permission to do anything? Anyway, you said yourself you’d rather it was Harry than Michael or Dean.”

“Yeah, I would,” says Ron grudgingly. “And just as long as you don’t start snogging each other in public —”

“You filthy hypocrite! What about you and Lavender, thrashing around like a pair of eels all over the place?” demands Ginny.

I snort at the disgusting but rather fitting imagery.

“Ron if you can live with Ariana and me together, then you can live with Harry and Ginny together.” I tell him simply.

“It’s not the same though innit’ you two are both girls. Harry’s a boy, different concepts!” Ron cries looking through narrowed eyes at Harry.

“Double standard.” I cough much to the amusement of Ginny and Hermione.

But Ron’s tolerance is not to be tested much as we move into June, for Harry and Ginny’s time together is becoming increasingly restricted. Ginny’s O.W.L.s are approaching and she is therefore forced to study for hours into the night.

This happens to be one of those nights. I’m finishing up the last of my Herbology essay with Harry and Ron (well at least Ron), for Harry is off daydreaming with an extremely dopey look on his face.

Hermione drops into the seat between Harry and Ron with an unpleasantly purposeful look on her face.

“I want to talk to you, Harry.”

“What about?” says Harry suspiciously, looking upset at being interrupted. Only the previous day, Hermione told him off for distracting Ginny when she ought to be working hard for her examinations.

“The so-called Half-Blood Prince.”

“Oh, not again,” he groans. “Will you please drop it?”

I know why Harry is so exasperated. He hasn’t gotten a chance to go back and get the book for he is afraid that Snape is still monitoring every one of his moves.

“I’m not dropping it,” says Hermione firmly, “until you’ve heard me out. Now, I’ve been trying to find out a bit about who might make a hobby of inventing Dark spells —”

“He didn’t make a hobby of it —”

“He, he — who says it’s a he?”

“We’ve been through this,” says Harry crossly. “Prince, Hermione, Prince!”

“Like that isn’t sexist at all.” I say idly knowing by now that the two of them are so worked up that they won’t hear any of my comments.

“Right!” says Hermione, red patches blazing in her cheeks as she pulls a very old piece of newsprint out of her pocket and slams it down on the table in front of Harry. “Look at that! Look at the picture!”

I stare at the moving photograph, yellowed with age; Ron leans over for a look too.   The picture shows a skinny girl of around fifteen. She is not pretty; she looks simultaneously cross and sullen, with heavy brows and a long, pallid face. Underneath the photograph is the caption: EILEEN PRINCE, CAPTAIN OF THE HOGWARTS GOBSTONES TEAM.

“So?” says Harry, scanning the short news item to which the picture belongs; it is a rather dull story about interschool competitions.

“Her name was Eileen Prince. Prince, Harry.”

We all look at each other, and I realize what Hermione is trying to say. Harry bursts out laughing.

“No way.”

“What?”

“You think she was the Half-Blood . . . ? Oh, come on.”

“Well, why not? Harry, there aren’t any real princes in the Wizarding world! It’s either a nickname, a made-up title somebody’s given themselves, or it could be their actual name, couldn’t it? No, listen! If, say, her father was a wizard whose surname was Prince, and her mother was a Muggle, then that would make her a ‘half-blood Prince’!”

“Yeah, very ingenious, Hermione . . .” Harry says rolling his eyes.

“But it would! Maybe she was proud of being half a Prince!”

“Listen, Hermione, I can tell it’s not a girl. I can just tell.”

“The truth is that you don’t think a girl would have been clever enough,” says Hermione angrily.

“How can I have hung round with you for five years and not think girls are clever?” says Harry, looking stung by this. “It’s the way he writes, I just know the Prince was a bloke, I can tell. This girl hasn’t got anything to do with it. Where did you get this anyway?”

“The library,” says Hermione predictably. “There’s a whole collection of old Prophets up there. Well, I’m going to find out more about Eileen Prince if I can.”

“Enjoy yourself,” says Harry irritably.

“I will,” says Hermione. “And the first place I’ll look,” she shoots at him, as she reaches the portrait hole, “is records of old Potions awards!”

Harry scowls after her for a moment, then continues his contemplation of the darkening sky.

“You know, she has a point. I’m not saying that the Prince is that girl, but its not right to make assumptions even based on handwriting.” I tell Harry, earning myself an irritated scowl for my efforts.

“She’s just never got over you outperforming her in Potions,” says Ron, returning to his copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.

“You don’t think I’m mad, wanting that book back, do you?”

“’Course not,” says Ron robustly. “He was a genius, the Prince. Anyway . . . without his bezoar tip . . .” He draws his finger significantly across his own throat. “I wouldn’t be here to discuss it, would I? I mean, I’m not saying that spell you used on Malfoy was great —”

“Nor am I,” says Harry quickly.

“But he healed all right, didn’t he? Back on his feet in no time.”

“Yeah,” says Harry. “Thanks to Snape . . .”

“You still got detention with Snape this Saturday?” Ron continues.

“Fat chance Snape will let him see the light of day Saturday mornings ever again.” I say pointedly.

“Yeah, and the Saturday after that, and the Saturday after that,” sighs Harry. “And he’s hinting now that if I don’t get all the boxes done by the end of term, we’ll carry on next year.”

“Now that’s a punishment that I believe even the marauders never managed to get.” I say partially impressed with Harry, and the other part sad for him.

We’re interrupted from our conversation by Jimmy Peakes holding out a scroll of parchment to Harry.

“Thanks, Jimmy . . . Hey, it’s from Dumbledore!” says Harry excitedly, unrolling the parchment and scanning it. “He wants me to go to his office as quick as I can!”

We stare at each other.

“Blimey,” whispers Ron. “You don’t reckon . . . he hasn’t found . . . ?”

“Why else would he call for Harry so unexpectedly?” I say fear beginning to mount in me.

“Better go and see, hadn’t I?” says Harry, jumping to his feet. With a backwards wave, he disappears out of the common room.

“Why do I feel like that’s the last I’ll ever see of him?” I say nervously.

“Because you’re paranoid.” Ron answers simply.

“If I’m paranoid then I think you can at least be a little more worried.” I say biting my lower lip, feeling the beginnings of dread rise up in me. 

* * *

 

When Harry comes back into the common room not forty-five minutes later Hermione is back sitting with Ron and me, and I’m watching the pair of them duke it out over Wizarding chess. Ron is still winning despite Hermione’s heroic efforts. I flat out refused to play since Ron was always going to be the challenger.

“What does he want?” Hermione says at once after seeing him. “Harry, are you okay?” she adds anxiously.

“I’m fine,” says Harry shortly, racing past us. He dashed up the stairs and into his dormitory. After a few minutes he then speeds back down the stairs and into the common room, skidding to a halt where Ron, Hermione, and I are sitting, looking stunned.

“I’ve got to be quick,” Harry pants. “Dumbledore thinks I’m getting my Invisibility Cloak. Listen . . .”

He quickly tells us that he’s going with Professor Dumbledore to some cave, and that they’re going to destroy the Horcrux that is hidden there.

He does not pause either for Hermione’s gasps of horror, for Ron’s hasty questions, or for my near full blown panic attack.

“. . . so you see what this means?” Harry finishes at a gallop. “Dumbledore won’t be here tonight, so Malfoy’s going to have another clear shot at whatever he’s up to. No, listen to me!” he hisses angrily, as both Ron and Hermione show every sign of interrupting. “I know it was Malfoy celebrating in the Room of Requirement. Here —” He shoves the Marauder’s Map into Hermione’s hands. “You’ve got to watch him and you’ve got to watch Snape too. Use anyone else who you can rustle up from the D.A., Hermione, those contact Galleons will still work, right? Dumbledore says he’s put extra protection in the school, but if Snape’s involved, he’ll know what Dumbledore’s protection is, and how to avoid it — but he won’t be expecting you lot to be on the watch, will he?”

“Harry —” begins Hermione, her eyes huge with fear.

“I haven’t got time to argue,” says Harry curtly. “Take this as well —”

He thrusts socks into Ron’s hands.

“Thanks,” says Ron. “Er — why do I need socks?”

“You need what’s wrapped in them, it’s the Felix Felicis. Share it between yourselves, Ginny, Ariana, and Luka too. Say good-bye to Ginny for me. I’d better go, Dumbledore’s waiting —”

“No!” says Hermione, as Ron unwraps the tiny little bottle of golden potion, looking awestruck. “We don’t want it, you take it, who knows what you’re going to be facing?”

“I’ll be fine, I’ll be with Dumbledore,” says Harry. “I want to know you lot are okay. . . . Don’t look like that, Hermione, I’ll see you later. . . .”

“Harry.” I say grabbing ahold of his wrist before he is able to run off headfirst into danger. “Be careful for me. Watch your back, I won’t be there to do it for you this time.”

Harry gives me a long look like he’s trying to find the right thing to say before nodding his head grimly and running out the portrait hole. I turn back to Hermione and Ron and take a deep breath of air.

“Okay, I guess its time to get down to business. Hermione where is your galleon.” I say my hand unconsciously rising up to my necklace, fingering it gently, knowing that floors below, it must be practically burning into the skin of a certain blond.

* * *

It didn’t take long honestly. To gather everyone who was available to help defend the castle against the Death Eaters. My heart was close to stuttering to a stop a few times, but as soon as I saw the familiar blond and brown heads appear from the stairway my world was righted again.

Having Luka’s comforting presence, and Ariana’s arms around me is all that I really needed to know and feel at the moment. When I had been released my worried girlfriend, and then from my grim brother, I turned around to look at my serious faced friends surrounded by a small group of DA members.

Ginny and Neville were standing closet to them, and judging by the fiery look in my sister’s eyes she is none too pleased with one Harry James Potter.

“So, we’re really going to do this then.” Ariana says grimly, her voice rough, like she has been crying recently. I lace my fingers in hers and give her a worried look.

“Harry gave us a mission—” Ron starts.

“And we’re going to finish it. We’re to guard and patrol the seventh floor corridors. We can’t let the Death Eaters infiltrate Hogwarts. This is our home and we’re going to defend it.” Hermione says determinedly. The small party nods they’re heads in agreement before everyone splits up and set off for the corridors.

The few supporters we have trickle away until it’s only the main core group left behind for a second. Hermione stares solemnly at Ron, Ariana, Ginny, Luka, and me. From the depths of her pocket she produces the same tiny glass vile I had seen Harry drink from before. Felix Felicis.

“Harry wanted us to each have some of this. So that we’d have a little more luck while he was away.” She says awkwardly uncorking the bottle, and raising the glass to her lips for a little sip.

“There should be enough for everyone.” She supplies grimly watching as one by one we each take a small sip until there is nothing left of the prized little potion.

It takes a second for me to feel any of the effects after I sip from the vile, but when they do hit, I am almost in a euphoric high. Nothing was going to go wrong. Yes Death Eaters are most likely going to come after us, but there was nothing we were going to have to worry about now, for we were all going to be safe.

(Looking back this is why I never do drugs again). With a slightly less daunting silence the six of us split up to go and find the others so that we can patrol the hallways. Ariana and I end up with Neville in the corridor with the ugly troll tapestry.

“You do know that this corridor will most likely have a lot of action.” I tell him, trying to make sure that my friend knows the weight of the choice that he is making. Merlin I don’t even know the true weight of the choice that I’m making.

“I know.” Was all Neville replied with. The silent determination on his face was all that I needed to see despite the tremor in his wand arm.

I look to Ariana and am slightly stunned by the way her eyes reflect in the torchlight of the corridor. I open my mouth to say something, but am instantly blocked, by a sharp BANG, and the cloud of thick black smoke that begins to surround us.

Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, Fred and George, better not have sold it to them. The only way you could tell that the fight had begun, was the bright lights of spells being fired and the yells of rage, and glee bouncing off the stone walls. We didn’t get an introduction to the fight; we landed with the fight straight on.

A human howl from the distance chills my blood. They brought Greyback. There were too many of them. I engaged in as many as I could, and mostly by sheer luck (thanks Felix) I was managing to stay mostly unharmed. By the time most of the darkness powder had worn off, I noticed that Ariana wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and Neville was looking rather pale. I didn’t have time to think as a curse was fired at me, and I blocked it with a rather hasty Protego. Firing Bombarda at the ceiling above the black-cloaked figure managed to take him down with the rubble that fell from the ceiling.

Quickly I make my way over to Neville and support him on shaky legs out of the for the moment enemy less corridor. It won’t be open for long though, so I determined that a change of location was in order. I saw the blood on his torso, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask how it had happened.

Quickly I shed off the jumper I had been wearing over my shirt, and press it firmly against where I believed to be his injury. I’m not going to lose somebody else, I’m determined.

“You know, I wouldn’t choose healing as your profession after school. You would make a horrible bed nurse.” A gravely, but chilling voice says from behind me. I spin around in front of Neville, and raise my wand at the one person in the world that I truly hate besides Voldemort.

He hasn’t changed much since I last saw him a year ago. His long blond hair is slightly shorter around his shoulders, and his pallor is definitely looking healthier than when he was originally broken out of Azkaban.

“Augustus.” I snarl, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. I was not ready to see him again. I don’t think that I’ll ever truly be ready to face the man who killed my parents, and nearly killed me. At least Ariana and Luka are safe this time. They’re nowhere near this mess.

“Is that any way to treat your elder?” He drawls lazily and tauntingly waving his wand.

“You don’t deserve any respect.” I grit out. “You killed my Mum and Dad.”

“Which you seem to have had no trouble replacing. How is it living with blood traitors Jamie, have you contracted anything yet.”

“It’s a right sight better than living with the likes of you. Who knows where you’ve been before and after you were in Azkaban.” A new voice interjects. Coming in from another part of the fight is Luka. He’s bleeding from his lip, and one of the lenses in his glasses are cracked.

“Ah and the mini Daniel has shown his face finally. I was beginning to worry if you had gotten the fact that I was here today.” Augustus says, like this whole confrontation is some big thing to joke about.

“Luka…” I don’t know what to say. I want to scream for him to leave now, so that at least one of us makes it out of this alive, but there is a hard dark look in my brother’s eyes that scream defiance.

“Oh, don’t you worry. I will always know when you’re present now.” Luka practically snarls. There’s something wrong with my brother. He’s practically shaking.

“So I take it that you got my letters then? I wasn’t sure when I didn’t receive a reply.” Augustus says a devilish smirk morphing on his face.

“Letters? What letters?” I say before I can stop myself. I’m so confused.

“Oh, dear nephew it seems like you have been keeping some things from your dear sister. That’s a shame, and I’m rather curious how you stopped that since I sent letters to her as well.” I see a flash of anger cross his face.

“It was rather easy really. I just had to get up and to the Owlry each morning before the mail was to be delivered. It’s rather easy to find the owl and get the letter once you knew what to look for. Besides, I was never going to let Jamie read the trash that you write.” Luka practically spits out at the end.

Before I can even wrap my head around the information that was given to me, the battle between our family’s killer and my brother has begun. I could only stand there and defend Neville and me from the few curses that were fired our way, because Luka was like a man possessed. He was going after our uncle like the fires of hell were at his feet.

I’m honestly not sure how long the fight lasted. It was a constant state of terror realizing that I could lose my brother with only one misfired spell. I had never seen him fight like this before. He looked like a natural, like he had been fighting frown dark wizards for his whole life.

It was at that exact moment that I realized that we were no longer kids playing at a war that was too big for us. We are now legally adults and war is something that knows no age, and affects everyone indiscriminately. I can’t believe it took me six years to finally figure that out.

Suddenly there’s a rush of footsteps and Augustus is blown back by a charm. “You stay away from my son.” Arthur growls, looking almost shockingly wild from where I’m standing. He wand is still pointed at Augustus and his hand is most definitely not shaking.

“Luka, Jamie, get Neville away form here, I will deal with Augustus.” Arthur says never taking his eyes off of our uncle. I carefully bend down to pick up Neville who looks barely conscious at this point.

“No! I’m not leaving you! I have a right, he’s been torturing me practically constantly with all those vile letters he’s sent! I have just as much a right!” Luka cries. I can’t see his face, but I can tell from the way that he’s not in a good state. I know that I have to get Neville out of there so I unfortunately leave Arthur and Luka behind to deal with Augustus on they’re own.

My head is spinning with the possibilities of what he was saying, and what letters my brother had actually received. Luckily I find Lupin crouched down behind a wall, and bring Neville over to him.

“Professor.” I say easing down Neville next to him, sighing in relief for Neville is beginning to not be able to hold his own weight anymore. Lupin glances over his shoulder at me, and I can see something akin to relief and dread in his eyes.

“Pendragon, what did I say about calling me Professor?” He grunts before sending a curse at the Death Eater popping up from his cover.

“Neville is hurt.” I say gruffly not sure exactly what to do anymore.

“Leave him here, nowhere is safe at the moment. The Order was called in to assist. I think your parents are around here somewhere.” Lupin says glancing over me again worriedly.

“Yeah one of them came and found us earlier.” I say plastering myself to the wall when a curse gets too close for my liking. Suddenly there’s a commotion coming from the hallway. A large group of cackling, whooping Death Eaters come traipsing down the hall with Snape and Malfoy in their midst.

I shiver when I see the manic glee on Bellatrix’s face. I’m almost afraid to wonder about what could possibly make her that happy. The fighting resumes tenfold, and I find myself drawn away from the relative safety of Lupin and Neville, to the thick of it, teaming up with Ginny for a minute to battle Amycus Carrow.

To my right down the stairs leading down to the lower levels of the castle I catch a glimpse of a head of messy black hair, and a head of blond hair. I recognize them as Harry and Ariana, and I’m so distracted for a moment that I feel the sting of a spell slicing my cheek causing it to bleed.

Annoyed with my lack of concentration I fire a jelly legs jinx at the Death Eater smirking when his legs immediately begin to violently shake underneath him, and Ginny’s able to knock him over. Seeing as the situation has been handled the best its going to be, I turn and start running down the stairs. I don’t notice that Ginny’s behind me until we’re both staring at the destruction that’s become of the Great Hall.

The Gryffindor’s house points container has been shattered and the red rubies are all slipping out onto the floor, and tables are blown apart every which way.

“What did they come here for?” I say, my voice coming out in a quiver.

“I haven’t got a clue, but they’re still going to need help fighting. I think that some of them escaped outside.” Ginny says, pulling on my arm to drag me outside of the front doors, which are hanging haphazardly open, like an old rusted gate.

I can hear the sound of a fight happening down by Hagrid’s hut but I freeze when I look back up at the castle. Up in the sky like a glowing glittering ghoul is the Dark Mark— the skull and snake that has plagued my dreams ever since I had seen the first one.

There were dressing gown donned people making their way over to the foot of the tallest tower, and we decided to make our way there. As we got closer I could hear the sound of chocked sobs and a heart broken wail. It chilled my blood that I recognized the sound of the person.

Uncaring if I knock some people over, I push to the front of the crowd, and see a sight that will never leave me.

Spread-eagled, broken: the greatest wizard I have ever, or will ever, meet lies dead.

Dumbledore’s eyes are closed; but for the strange angle of his arms and legs, he may have been sleeping. Ariana is collapsed on the ground beside him, clutching his body to her, as streams of tears fall down her cheeks. I had never heard her sound so despondent before, and I never care to hear her like this again.

As if on auto-pilot my legs lead me over to my girlfriend, and I collapse to my knees beside her, and wind my arms around her, pulling her closer to me, wishing, hoping, willing any of my willing strength of tonight to go to her, and help her find solace. Ariana buries her face into my shoulder, never letting go of her grandfather.

My heart pangs in horror as I realize that Ariana is now very much the orphan that I once was. Only this time she doesn’t have another relative to take care of her. She doesn’t have a twin to always be there for her. She has no one— except me. I tighten my grip on her, resolved to never let go, not until she asks me to.

Ariana has been so strong for me many times, it’s my time to take care of her now. I can feel her tears begin to soak through my shirt, and even though it’s chilly out, I don’t feel the nip against my skin.

This is why Bellatrix was so happy. This was Malfoy’s goal all along. They had to take the one person in the world who mattered most to Ariana. They had to take away Professor Dumbledore.

Harry makes his way through the crowd, and towards us. He collapses on the other side of Dumbledore, and wipes away a small trail of blood from his mouth. Silent tears are streaming down his cheeks, and I can see Ginny appear from behind him, taking up a position much like the one I am in now.

I start whispering soft words into Ariana’s ear. I don’t tell her that everything will be okay. Who am I to make such accusations when it’s so obvious that nothing’s okay. I just let her know that I’m here for her. That’s she’s not alone, that she will never be alone as long as she wants me by her side.

The grounds have never sounded more chilling than for the eerie silence broken only by the muffled sounds of sobbing coming from Harry Potter and Ariana Dumbledore— the last Dumbledore.


	18. The Phoenix Lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 18 The Phoenix Lament

 

It was hard— almost excruciatingly so to lead both Harry and Ariana back into the castle. They were both distraught. I had an unpleasant sinking feeling in my stomach that Harry knows or had seen what had happened to Dumbledore before his fall. The man looked far too peaceful in death to have been alive when he had actually fallen.

I shiver at the thought.

Faces swim on the edges of my vision, people are peering at us, whispering, wondering, and Gryffindor rubies glisten on the floor like drops of blood as we make our way towards the marble staircase.

“We’re going to the hospital wing,” says Ginny.

“I’m not hurt,” says Harry.

“It’s McGonagall’s orders,” says Ginny, finally having my attention as well. “Everyone’s up there, Ron and Hermione and Lupin and everyone —”

Fear stirs in my heart. Is everyone okay? I didn’t think to check before coming outside. Self loathing creeps up in my throat.

“Ginny, who else is dead?” Harry demands.

“Don’t worry, none of us.” She responds

“But the Dark Mark — Malfoy said he stepped over a body —”

“He stepped over Bill, but it’s all right, he’s alive.” Ginny says.

There is something in her voice, however, that I know bodes ill.

“Are you sure?” I ask beginning to feel a little faint, but tightening my grip on my unresponsive girlfriend in response.

“Of course I’m sure . . . he’s a — a bit of a mess, that’s all. Greyback attacked him. Madam Pomfrey says he won’t — won’t look the same anymore. . . .”

Ginny’s voice trembles a little. I bite my lip not liking the fact that one of my family members has been hurt and attacked.

“We don’t really know what the aftereffects will be — I mean, Greyback being a werewolf, but not transformed at the time.”

“But the others . . . There were other bodies on the ground. . . .” Harry says looking half delirious at that rate.

“Neville and Professor Flitwick are both hurt, but Madam Pomfrey says they’ll be all right. And a Death Eater’s dead, he got hit by a Killing Curse that huge blond one was firing off everywhere — Harry, if we hadn’t had your Felix potion, I think we’d all have been killed, but everything seemed to just miss us —”

We reach the hospital wing. Pushing open the doors, I see Neville lying, apparently asleep, in a bed near the door. Ron, Hermione, Luna, Luka, Tonks, and Lupin are gathered around another bed near the far end of the ward. At the sound of the doors opening, they all look up. Hermione runs to Harry and hugs him, before hugging me; Lupin moves forward too, looking anxious.

“Are you all right, Harry?”

“I’m fine. . . . How’s Bill?”

I carefully lower Ariana onto the bed beside Bill’s so that I don’t have to worry about her falling over in her shock.

Nobody answers Harry. I look over Hermione’s shoulder and see an unrecognizable face lying on Bill’s pillow, so badly slashed and ripped that he looks grotesque. Madam Pomfrey is dabbing at his wounds with some harsh-smelling green ointment.

“Can’t you fix them with a charm or something?” Harry asks the matron.

“No charm will work on these,” says Madam Pomfrey. “I’ve tried everything I know, but there is no cure for werewolf bites.”

“But he wasn’t bitten at the full moon,” says Ron, who is gazing down into his brother’s face as though he can somehow force him to mend just by staring. “Greyback hadn’t transformed, so surely Bill won’t be a — a real — ?”

He looks uncertainly at Lupin.

“No, I don’t think that Bill will be a true werewolf,” says Lupin, “but that does not mean that there won’t be some contamination. Those are cursed wounds. They are unlikely ever to heal fully, and — and Bill might have some wolfish characteristics from now on.”

“At least he’s not dead.” I breathe. Keeping my hand in Ariana’s just to make sure that I myself am grounded.

“Dumbledore might know something that’d work, though,” Ron says. I wince as I hear the soft shaky sobs start up again from Ariana. “Where is he? Bill fought those maniacs on Dumbledore’s orders, Dumbledore owes him, he can’t leave him in this state —”

“Ron — Dumbledore’s dead,” says Ginny.

“No!” Lupin looks wildly from Ginny to Harry to Ariana, to me, as though hoping the latter might contradict her, but when we do not, Lupin collapses into a chair beside Bill’s bed, his hands over his face. I have never seen Lupin lose control before; I feel as though I am intruding upon something private, indecent, so I lower myself down onto the bed beside Ariana, and gather her into me, at least I know that I can help here.

“How did he die?” whispers Tonks. “How did it happen?”

“Snape killed him,” says Harry. “I was there, I saw it. We arrived back on the Astronomy Tower because that’s where the Mark was. . . . Dumbledore was ill, he was weak, but I think he realized it was a trap when we heard footsteps running up the stairs. He immobilized me, I couldn’t do anything, I was under the Invisibility Cloak — and then Malfoy came through the door and disarmed him —”

Hermione claps her hands to her mouth, Ron groans, and I hold onto Ariana tighter. Luna’s mouth trembles.

“— more Death Eaters arrived — and then Snape — and Snape did it. The Avada Kedavra.” Harry can’t go on.

Ariana is now sobbing in my arms, and I try to hold the trembling girl together. Luka looks on heart broken not sure exactly what to do, but in the end he chooses to sit on the edge of the bed, and run his hand soothingly up and down Ariana’s back.

Madam Pomfrey finally seems to be keyed in to Ariana’s distress and helps her get a calming draught in her, so that she can finally get some rest.

“The poor dear.” She says with watery eyes. I place a soft kiss onto my now slumbering girlfriend’s forehead wishing that I could make all of this better and go away.

“Shh! Listen!” Ginny shushes the quiet murmuring going on around us.

Gulping, Madam Pomfrey presses her fingers to her mouth, her eyes wide as she tries to stop her tears. Somewhere out in the darkness, a phoenix is singing in a way I have never heard before: a stricken lament of terrible beauty. And I feel, as I felt about phoenix song before, that the music is inside me, not without: It is my own grief turned magically to song that echoes across the grounds and through the castle windows.

How long we all stood and sat there, listening, I do not know, nor why it seems to ease our pain a little to listen to the sound of their mourning, but it feels like a long time later that the hospital door opens again and Professor McGonagall enters the ward. Like all the rest of us, she bears marks of the recent battle: There are grazes on her face and her robes are ripped.

“Molly and Arthur are on their way, they were in a distant part of the castle chasing out the rest of them” she says, and the spell of the music is broken: Everyone rouses themselves as though coming out of trances, turning again to look at Bill, Ariana, or else to rub their own eyes, shake their heads. “Harry, what happened? According to Hagrid you were with Professor Dumbledore when he — when it happened. He says Professor Snape was involved in some —”

“Snape killed Dumbledore,” says Harry. I wince again at the glaring fact of it all, thankful that Ariana is sleeping through yet another rehashing of the events of her grandfather’s death. I watch as McGonagall glances at Ariana with worry and sorry in her eyes. I had known that they were close, but that wasn’t ever really a subject that Ariana wanted to talk about.

McGonagall turns her gaze back to Harry and stares at him for a moment, then sways alarmingly; Madam Pomfrey, who seems to have pulled herself together, runs forward, conjuring a chair from thin air, which she pushes under McGonagall.

“Snape,” repeats McGonagall faintly, falling into the chair. “We all wondered . . . but he trusted . . . always . . . Snape . . . I can’t believe it. . . .”

“Snape was a highly accomplished Occlumens,” says Lupin, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. “We always knew that.”

“But Dumbledore swore he was on our side!” whispers Tonks. “I always thought Dumbledore must know something about Snape that we didn’t. . . .”

“Does this truly matter now?” I whisper, and Luka squeezes my shoulder, while still rubbing Ariana’s back. I give my brother what must look like a desperately grateful look.

“He always hinted that he had an ironclad reason for trusting Snape,” mutters Professor McGonagall, now dabbing at the corners of her leaking eyes with a tartan-edged handkerchief. “I mean . . . with Snape’s history . . . of course people were bound to wonder . . . but Dumbledore told me explicitly that Snape’s repentance was absolutely genuine. . . . Wouldn’t hear a word against him!”

“I’d love to know what Snape told him to convince him,” says Tonks.

“I know,” says Harry, and we all turn to look at him. “Snape passed Voldemort the information that made Voldemort hunt down my mum and dad. Then Snape told Dumbledore he hadn’t realized what he was doing, he was really sorry he’d done it, sorry that they were dead.”

We all stare at him.

“And Dumbledore believed that?” says Lupin incredulously. “Dumbledore believed Snape was sorry James was dead? Snape hated James. . . .”

“And he didn’t think my mother was worth a damn either,” says Harry, “because she was Muggle-born. . . . ‘Mudblood,’ he called her. . . .”

Nobody asks how Harry knows this. All of us seem to be lost in horrified shock, trying to digest the monstrous truth of what happened.

“This is all my fault,” says Professor McGonagall suddenly. She looks disoriented, twisting her wet handkerchief in her hands. “My fault. I sent Filius to fetch Snape tonight, I actually sent for him to come and help us! If I hadn’t alerted Snape to what was going on, he might never have joined forces with the Death Eaters. I don’t think he knew they were there before Filius told him, I don’t think he knew they were coming.”

“It isn’t your fault, Minerva,” says Lupin firmly. “We all wanted more help, we were glad to think Snape was on his way. . . .”

“If it wasn’t Snape it would have been one of the others.” I say, and people freeze for a moment before nodding their heads hesitantly.

“So when he arrived at the fight, he joined in on the Death Eaters’ side?” asks Harry, who looks like he’s ready to commit murder of his own.

“I don’t know exactly how it happened,” says Professor McGonagall distractedly.  “It’s all so confusing. . . . Dumbledore had told us that he would be leaving the school for a few hours and that we were to patrol the corridors just in case . . . Remus, Bill, and Nymphadora were to join us, and then of course Molly and Srthur were worried so they joined as well . . . and so we patrolled. All seemed quiet. Every secret passageway out of the school was covered. We knew nobody could fly in. There were powerful enchantments on every entrance into the castle. I still don’t know how the Death Eaters can possibly have entered. . . .”

“I do,” says Harry, and he explains, briefly, about the pair of Vanishing Cabinets and the magical pathway they form. “So they got in through the Room of Requirement.”

He glances, at Ron, Hermione, Luka, and I. We all feel terrible about what happened.

“I messed up, Harry,” says Ron bleakly. “We did like you told us: We checked the Marauder’s Map and we couldn’t see Malfoy on it, so we thought he must be in the Room of Requirement, so me, Ginny, and Neville, went to keep watch on it . . . but Malfoy got past us.”

“He came out of the room about an hour after we started keeping watch,” says Ginny. “He was on his own, clutching that awful shriveled arm —”

“His Hand of Glory,” says Ron. “Gives light only to the holder, remember?”

“Anyway,” Ginny goes on, “he must have been checking whether the coast was clear to let the Death Eaters out, because the moment he saw us he threw something into the air and it all went pitch-black —”

“Luka, Ariana, and I were in the other hallway when it hit.” I explain.

“— Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder,” says Ron bitterly. “Fred and George’s. I’m going to be having a word with them about who they let buy their products.”

“We tried everything, Lumos, Incendio,” says Ginny. “Nothing would penetrate the darkness; all we could do was grope our way out of the corridor again, and meanwhile we could hear people rushing past us. Obviously Malfoy could see because of that hand thing and was guiding them, but we didn’t dare use any curses or anything in case we hit each other, and by the time we’d reached a corridor that was light, they’d gone.”

“We didn’t have a choice with the curses. It was a pitch black light show from the beginning. We were hammered with spells and it was all you could do to try and find cover. When the darkness cleared somehow Neville was with Jamie and me, and Ariana had disappeared.” Luka explains adjusting his broken glasses on his nose.

Hermione notices this and goes over to him performing a quick occulus reparo to fix the problem.

“Luckily,” says Lupin hoarsely, “Ron, and Ginny, ran into us almost immediately and told us what had happened. We found the Death Eaters minutes later, heading in the direction of the Astronomy Tower. Malfoy obviously hadn’t expected more people to be on the watch; he seemed to have exhausted his supply of Darkness Powder, at any rate. A fight broke out, they scattered and we gave chase. One of them, Gibbon, broke away and headed up the tower stairs —”

“To set off the Mark?” asks Harry.

“He must have done, yes, they must have arranged that before they left the Room of Requirement,” says Lupin. “But I don’t think Gibbon liked the idea of waiting up there alone for Dumbledore, because he came running back downstairs to rejoin the fight and was hit by a Killing Curse that just missed me.”

“So if Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luka, Ariana, and Jamie were watching the Room of Requirement then,” says Harry, turning to Hermione, “were you — ?”

“Outside Snape’s office, yes,” whispers Hermione, her eyes sparkling with tears, “with Luna. We hung around for ages outside it and nothing happened. . . . We didn’t know what was going on upstairs, Ron had taken the map. . . . It was nearly midnight when Professor Flitwick came sprinting down into the dungeons. He was shouting about Death Eaters in the castle, I don’t think he really registered that Luna and I were there at all, he just burst his way into Snape’s office and we heard him saying that Snape had to go back with him and help and then we heard a loud thump and Snape came hurtling out of his room and he saw us and — and —”

“What?” Harry urges her. So I guess she decided to change part of the plan after our little huddle then. We’re going to have to work on communication more in times of crisis it seems.

“I was so stupid, Harry!” says Hermione in a high-pitched whisper. “He said Professor Flitwick had collapsed and that we should go and take care of him while he — while he went to help fight the Death Eaters —” She covers her face in shame and continues to talk into her fingers, so that her voice is muffled. “We went into his office to see if we could help Professor Flitwick and found him unconscious on the floor . . . and oh, it’s so obvious now, Snape must have Stupefied Flitwick, but we didn’t realize, Harry, we didn’t realize, we just let Snape go!”

“It’s not your fault,” says Lupin firmly. “Hermione, had you not obeyed Snape and got out of the way, he probably would have killed you and Luna.”

“So then he came upstairs,” says Harry, “and he found the place where you were all fighting. . . .”

“We were in trouble, we were losing,” says Tonks in a low voice. “Gibbon was down, but the rest of the Death Eaters seemed ready to fight to the death. Neville had been hurt, Jamie had dropped him off with Lupin, Bill had been savaged by Greyback . . . It was all dark . . . curses flying everywhere . . . The Malfoy boy had vanished, he must have slipped past, up the stairs . . . then more of them ran after him, but one of them blocked the stair behind them with some kind of curse.”

“None of us could break through,” says Ron, “and that massive Death Eater was still firing off jinxes all over the place, they were bouncing off the walls and barely missing us. . . .”

“And then Snape was there,” says Tonks, “and then he wasn’t —”

“I saw him running toward us, but that huge Death Eater’s jinx just missed me right afterward and I ducked and lost track of things,” says Ginny.

“I saw him run straight through the cursed barrier as though it wasn’t there,” says Lupin. “I tried to follow him, but was thrown back. . . .”

“He must have known a spell we didn’t,” whispers McGonagall. “After all — he was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. . . . I just assumed that he was in a hurry to chase after the Death Eaters who’d escaped up to the tower. . . .”

“He was,” says Harry savagely, “but to help them, not to stop them . . . and I’ll bet you had to have a Dark Mark to get through that barrier — so what happened when he came back down?” I tighten my grip on Ariana subconsciously needing her close.

“Well, the big Death Eater had just fired off a hex that caused half the ceiling to fall in, and also broke the curse blocking the stairs,” says Lupin. “We all ran forward — those of us who were still standing anyway — and then Snape and the boy emerged out of the dust — obviously, none of us attacked them —”

“We just let them pass,” says Tonks in a hollow voice. “We thought they were being chased by the Death Eaters — and next thing, the other Death Eaters and Greyback were back and we were fighting again — I thought I heard Snape shout something, but I don’t know what —”

“He shouted, ‘It’s over,’” says Harry. “He’d done what he’d meant to do.”

We all fall silent. Fawkes’s lament is still echoing over the dark grounds outside.

The doors of the hospital wing burst open, making us all jump: Molly and Arthur are striding up the ward, Fleur just behind them, her beautiful face terrified.

“Molly — Arthur —” says Professor McGonagall, jumping up and hurrying to greet them. “I am so sorry —”

“Bill,” whispers Molly, darting past Professor McGonagall as she catches sight of Bill’s mangled face. “Oh, Bill!”

Lupin and Tonks got up hastily and retreat so that Arthur and Molly can get nearer to the bed. Molly bends over her son and presses her lips to his bloody forehead.

“You said Greyback attacked him?” Arthur asks Professor McGonagall distractedly. “But he hadn’t transformed? So what does that mean? What will happen to Bill?”

“We don’t yet know,” says Professor McGonagall, looking helplessly at Lupin.

“There will probably be some contamination, Arthur,” says Lupin. “It is an odd case, possibly unique. . . . We don’t know what his behavior might be like when he awakens. . . .”

Molly takes the nasty-smelling ointment from Madam Pomfrey and begins dabbing at Bill’s wounds.

“And Dumbledore . . .” says Arthur. “Minerva, is it true . . . Is he really . . . ?”

As Professor McGonagall nods, I watch Ginny move beside Harry. Her slightly narrowed eyes are fixed upon Fleur, who is gazing down at Bill with a frozen expression on her face.

“Dumbledore gone,” whispers Arthur, but Molly has eyes only for her eldest son; she begins to sob, tears falling onto Bill’s mutilated face.

“Of course, it doesn’t matter how he looks. . . . It’s not r-really important . . . but he was a very handsome little b-boy . . . always very handsome . . . and he was g-going to be married!”

“And what do you mean by zat?” says Fleur suddenly and loudly. “What do you mean, ‘’e was going to be married?’”

Molly raises her tear-stained face, looking startled. “Well — only that —”

“You theenk Bill will not wish to marry me anymore?” demands Fleur. “You theenk, because of these bites, he will not love me?”

“No, that’s not what I —”

“Because ’e will!” says Fleur, drawing herself up to her full height and throwing back her long mane of silver hair. I watch stunned, my respect for the woman growing in leaps and bounds, it takes a brave woman to stand up to Mama Weasley. “It would take more zan a werewolf to stop Bill loving me!”

“Well, yes, I’m sure,” says Molly, “but I thought perhaps — given how — how he —”

“You thought I would not weesh to marry him? Or per’aps, you hoped?” says Fleur, her nostrils flaring. “What do I care how he looks? I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk! All these scars show is zat my husband is brave! And I shall do zat!” she adds fiercely, pushing Molly aside and snatching the ointment from her.

Molly falls back against her husband and watches Fleur mopping up Bill’s wounds with a most curious expression upon her face. Nobody says anything; I focus on the steady breathing of Ariana in my arms. Like everybody else, I am waiting for the explosion.

“Our Great-Auntie Muriel,” says Molly after a long pause, “has a very beautiful tiara — goblin-made — which I am sure I could persuade her to lend you for the wedding. She is very fond of Bill, you know, and it would look lovely with your hair.”

“Thank you,” says Fleur stiffly. “I am sure zat will be lovely.”

And then, I do not quite see how it happens, both women are crying and hugging each other. Completely bewildered, wondering whether the world has gone mad, I look around: Ron, and Harry look as stunned as I feel and Ginny and Hermione are exchanging startled looks.

“You see!” says a strained voice. Tonks is glaring at Lupin. “She still wants to marry him, even though he’s been bitten! She doesn’t care!”

“It’s different,” says Lupin, barely moving his lips and looking suddenly tense. “Bill will not be a full werewolf. The cases are completely —”

“But I don’t care either, I don’t care!” says Tonks, seizing the front of Lupin’s robes and shaking them. “I’ve told you a million times. . . .”

And the meaning of Tonks’ Patronus and her mouse-colored hair, and the reason she came running to find Dumbledore when she had heard a rumor someone had been attacked by Greyback, all suddenly became clear to me. She was in love with Lupin, and he was staying away from her.

“And I’ve told you a million times,” says Lupin, refusing to meet her eyes, staring at the floor, “that I am too old for you, too poor . . . too dangerous. . . .”

“I’ve said all along you’re taking a ridiculous line on this, Remus,” says Molly over Fleur’s shoulder as she pats her on the back.

“I am not being ridiculous,” says Lupin steadily. “Tonks deserves somebody young and whole.”

“But she wants you,” says Arthur, with a small smile. “And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so.”

He gestures sadly at his son, lying between them.

“This is . . . not the moment to discuss it,” says Lupin, avoiding everybody’s eyes as he looks around distractedly. “Dumbledore is dead. . . .”

“A girl is orphaned.” I say sadly. Everyone glances to Ariana, and I can almost feel their cringes as they had forgotten that yet another child had been made an orphan by this terrible war (is it even a war yet?).

“She’s a strong girl. She will be heartbroken yes, but she will come back from this even stronger. She will not be alone either.” McGonagall says looking significantly at and me. We both nod our heads, but I can’t help but notice the soft look that comes to the old stern professor when she looks at Ariana.

“At any rate. Dumbledore would have been happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world,” says Professor McGonagall curtly, just as the hospital doors open again and Hagrid walks in.

The little of his face that is not obscured by hair or beard is soaking and swollen; he is shaking with tears, a vast, spotted handkerchief in his hand.

“I’ve . . . I’ve done it, Professor,” he chokes. “M-moved him. Professor Sprout’s got the kids back in bed. Professor Flitwick’s lyin’ down, but he says he’ll be all righ’ in a jiffy, an’ Professor Slughorn says the Ministry’s bin informed.”

“Thank you, Hagrid,” says Professor McGonagall, standing up at once and turning to look at the group around Bill’s bed. “I shall have to see the Ministry when they get here. Hagrid, please tell the Heads of Houses — Slughorn can represent Slytherin — that I want to see them in my office forthwith. I would like you to join us too.”

As Hagrid nods, turns, and shuffles out of the room again, she looks down at Harry. “Before I meet them I would like a quick word with you, Harry. If you’ll come with me. . . .”

Harry stands up, murmurs “See you in a bit” to Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and me, and follows Professor McGonagall back down the ward.

That leaves the rest of us alone in our shared grief, that’s becoming so thick that it’s choking the air. The only sounds really are the shallow breaths of Neville and Ariana, alongside the labored breathing of Bill.

Slowly Molly and Arthur pull themselves away from Bill once they’re certain that nothing drastic is going to happen to him in the next few minutes. They move around checking over Ron and Ginny looking at their scrapes and bruises making sure that they’re okay.

Everyone is shaky; Hermione practically breaks out into tears when Molly brushes away the stray tear already on her cheek. Ron is standing silent vigil over Bill his eyes hardly leaving his elder brother. I can tell that he’s having a hard time coming to terms with what happened, and how this is going to change Bill.

A hand lands on my shoulder and I practically jump at the sudden contact. I look up quickly to see the stressed and worried eyes of Molly. “How are you dear?” She asks me softly, suddenly appearing with some gauze. She wipes up the blood that had been trickling from the wound on my cheek, and the one from my temple.

“I-it’s been hard. I’ve never seen her so distraught before— I don’t think I could ever handle seeing her like that again.” I say honestly staring up at her begging her to make sense of all of this for me.

“Losing a loved one is never easy, and you three have lost so much already. I wish that I could take away all the hurt that you’ve got and all the bad that you’ve seen Jamie, but I can’t and that hurts me more than you’ll ever know.” She says cupping my cheek gently.

I feel my lower lip begin to quiver, and I lean into her touch more.

“I’m just so tired Mum.” I admit closing my eyes. I can hear the small shocked intake of breath from her, but she doesn’t acknowledge my utterance.

“I know sweetie I’m tired too.” She agrees. We sit there for a second before a part of Arthur’s conversation with Luka get’s louder.

“I’d like to know what all this letter stuff is about Luka.” Arthur says, with a rather stern look on his face.

“It doesn’t matter now. I was handling it. No one got hurt.” Luka says somewhat defensively.

“What matters is that Augustus had been sending you letters for months, and you told no one about it. He was outright threatening you and your sister, and you didn’t think that you needed to tell anyone!” Arthur cries his voice rising a bit.

Molly gasps from beside me. I can see that everyone’s attention is now on us. Ron and Ginny are gaping at the fact that our usually straight-laced brother did something so out of character. They just haven’t known Luka for as long as I have. If it meant that he could protect us, our family, he would have done anything to keep us safe.

“I did what I thought was right. Jamie was in no place to handle what he was saying, she still isn’t. He wrote awful things! He told me how he killed our parents, our grandparents! He explained how he was going to kill the two of us, and take what was rightfully his. He talked about what it felt like after he felled Jamie last year! So no, I wasn’t going to tell anyone, because it was no one’s business. I’m strong. I’m not some weak little bookworm like everyone thinks that I am. I can protect us!” Luka cries.

Its so quiet in the ward that you can practically hear a pin drop. “I understand son. But that doesn’t mean that you have to do it all alone now. You have a family. You and Jamie have six brothers and a sister who you can rely on and a mother and father who love you. You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.” Arthur says.

“I know Dad… it just felt like I had to at the time.” Luka says much quieter now.

“Well you shouldn’t of had to go through that at all. Just you wait and see, when I get my hands on that man, he’ll regret having ever harmed a hair on any of my children’s heads.” Molly says leaving me to squeeze Luka in a hug as well.

Arthur wanders over to me and looks down at Ariana, and me who had turned and nestled her head into my neck some minutes ago.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” He asks worriedly. I give him a bleak smile.

“Eventually Dad… eventually.” I say lowering myself further down in the bed so that I can get comfortable, knowing that I am most likely going to be sleeping here tonight, since I don’t think that I’m going to be able to let go of my girlfriend tonight. No not tonight— not when the stresses and nightmares of the past night are going to be so close to the front of my mind.


	19. The White Tomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's. Except Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 19- The White Tomb

 

All lessons are suspended, all examinations postponed. Some students are hurried away from Hogwarts by their parents over the next couple of days — the Patil twins are gone before breakfast on the morning following Dumbledore’s death, and Zacharias Smith is escorted from the castle by his haughty-looking father. Seamus Finnigan, on the other hand, refuses point-blank to accompany his mother home; they have a shouting match in the entrance hall that is resolved when she agrees that he can remain behind for the funeral. She has difficulty in finding a bed in Hogsmeade, Seamus tells us, for wizards and witches are pouring into the village, preparing to pay their last respects to Dumbledore.

Ariana has been walking around as if in some kind of a daze, not truly taking anything in, but still being cognizant of what’s going on around her. Luka and I have been near fixtures on her sides so that if she feels the need to break down again, that she will have support instantly.

I’ve begun to lose feeling in my left hand for she’s gripping it so hard constantly.

Some excitement is caused among the younger students, who have never seen it before, when a powder-blue carriage the size of a house, pulled by a dozen giant winged palominos, comes soaring out of the sky in the late afternoon before the funeral and lands on the edge of the forest. I watch from a window as a gigantic and handsome olive-skinned, black-haired woman descends the carriage steps and throws herself into the waiting Hagrid’s arms. Meanwhile a delegation of Ministry officials, including the Minister of Magic himself, is being accommodated within the castle. We all are diligently avoiding contact with any of them; Harry is sure that, sooner or later, he will be asked again to account for Dumbledore’s last excursion from Hogwarts.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are spending all of their time together with Luka, Ariana, and me. The beautiful weather seems to mock us.

We visit the hospital wing twice a day: Neville has been discharged, but Bill remains under Madam Pomfrey’s care. His scars are as bad as ever — in truth, he now bears a distinct resemblance to Mad-Eye Moody, though thankfully with both eyes and legs — but in personality he seems just the same as ever. All that appears to have changed is that he now has a great liking for very rare steaks.

“. . . so eet ees lucky ’e is marrying me,” says Fleur happily, plumping up Bill’s pillows, “because ze British overcook their meat, I ’ave always said this.”

“I suppose I’m just going to have to accept that he really is going to marry her,” sighs Ginny later that evening, as she, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I sit beside the open window of the Gryffindor common room, looking out over the twilit grounds. Luka demanded that I leave my girlfriend’s side and get some actual relaxing rest, and I only did so after a kiss and a thank you from Ariana. She ended up dismissing Luka as well claiming that she needed some time alone. I just hope she’s all right.

“Fleur’s not that bad,” says Harry. “Ugly, though,” he adds hastily, as Ginny raises her eyebrows, and she lets out a reluctant giggle.

“Well, I suppose if Mum can stand it, I can.”

“Anyone else we know died?” Ron asks Hermione, who is perusing the Evening Prophet.

Hermione winces at the forced toughness in his voice. “No,” she says reprovingly, folding up the newspaper. “They’re still looking for Snape but no sign . . .”

“Of course there isn’t,” says Harry, who becomes angry every time this subject crops up. “They won’t find Snape till they find Voldemort, and seeing as they’ve never managed to do that in all this time . . .”

“I’m going to go to bed,” yawns Ginny (I can tell she wants an escape). “I haven’t been sleeping that well since . . . well . . . I could do with some sleep.”

She kisses Harry (Ron looks away pointedly), waves at the other two, and departs for the girls’ dormitories. The moment the door has closed behind her, Hermione leans forward towards Harry with a most Hermione-ish look on her face.

“Harry, I found something out this morning, in the library.”

“R.A.B.?” says Harry, sitting up straight.

He had shown Hermione and me the note inside the fake locket the morning after Dumbledore’s death, and although she did not immediately recognize the initials as belonging to some obscure wizard about whom she has been reading, she has since been rushing off to the library a little more often than is strictly necessary for somebody who has no homework to do.

“No,” she says sadly, “I’ve been trying, Harry, but I haven’t found anything. . . . There are a couple of reasonably well-known wizards with those initials — Rosalind Antigone Bungs . . . Rupert ‘Axebanger’ Brookstanton . . . but they don’t seem to fit at all. Judging by that note, the person who stole the Horcrux knew Voldemort, and I can’t find a shred of evidence that Bungs or Axebanger ever had anything to do with him. . . . No, actually, it’s about . . . well, Snape.”

“Everything is about him these days.” I say plainly rubbing my forehead in attempt to stave off the headache that I know is blooming.

“What about him?” asks Harry heavily, slumping back in his chair.

“Well, it’s just that I was sort of right about the Half-Blood Prince business,” she says tentatively.

“D’you have to rub it in, Hermione? How d’you think I feel about that now?”

“No — no — Harry, I didn’t mean that!” she says hastily, looking around to check that we are not being overheard. “It’s just that I was right about Eileen Prince once owning the book. You see . . . she was Snape’s mother!”

The half-blood son a woman with the last name Prince, Snape was bound to be stuck on that title forever.

“I thought she wasn’t much of a looker,” says Ron. Hermione ignores him.

“I was going through the rest of the old Prophets and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape, and then later an announcement saying that she’d given birth to a —”

“— murderer,” spits Harry.

“Well he wasn’t at the time.” I point out earning a dirty glare from Harry.

“If Ariana was here would you be pointing out these things in her presence, defending the murderer of her grandfather?” Harry snaps at me.

I grit my teeth and look away.

“I may not always like it, but there are always two sides to every story.” I say sullenly, slinking back further in my chair. What I really wanted right about now were for my parents to come and just take charge of everything again, like when we’re at home. I can follow orders for some time. I just don’t know what to do with myself right now, I feel centerless, and it’s not a pretty feeling.

“Well . . . yes,” says Hermione trying to disperse the tension suddenly between us. “So . . . I was sort of right. Snape must have been proud of being ‘half a Prince,’ you see? Tobias Snape was a Muggle from what it said in the Prophet.”

“Yeah, that fits,” says Harry. “He’d play up the pure-blood side so he could get in with Lucius Malfoy and the rest of them. . . . He’s just like Voldemort. Pure-blood mother, Muggle father . . . ashamed of his parentage, trying to make himself feared using the Dark Arts, gave himself an impressive new name — Lord Voldemort — the Half-Blood Prince — how could Dumbledore have missed — ?”

Harry breaks off to stare out the window. Hermione and Ron glance at me.

“So how’s our girl been doing?” Ron asks referring to Ariana.

“About as good as you could expect anyone to be after losing their last family member. She’s quieter than usual, and she still cries when she thinks that I’m not looking. I’m trying my best to be there— to support her, but it’s hard. I just want her to know that I’m going to be there for her no matter what.” I sigh.

“She knows that Jamie. Anyone can tell that just from looking at the two of you. She’s honestly just going to need time to process everything that’s happened.” Hermione tells me squeezing my hand that had erupted into blue fire at the thought of the girl who I loved in distress.

It shocks me for a moment that she’s not burned, but I relax knowing that I won’t be able to accidentally harm her now.

“I still don’t get why Snape didn’t turn you in for using that book,” says Ron, turning back to Harry after letting him stew for long enough. “He must’ve known where you were getting it all from.”

“He knew,” says Harry bitterly. “He knew when I used Sectumsempra. He didn’t really need Legilimency. . . . He might even have known before then, with Slughorn talking about how brilliant I was at Potions. . . . Shouldn’t have left his old book in the bottom of that cupboard, should he?”

“But why didn’t he turn you in?” Ron pushes.

“I don’t think he wanted to associate himself with that book,” says Hermione. “I don’t think Dumbledore would have liked it very much if he’d known. And even if Snape pretended it hadn’t been his, Slughorn would have recognized his writing at once. Anyway, the book was left in Snape’s old classroom, and I’ll bet Dumbledore knew his mother was called ‘Prince.’”

“I should’ve shown the book to Dumbledore,” says Harry. “All that time he was showing me how Voldemort was evil even when he was at school, and I had proof Snape was too —”

“‘Evil’ is a strong word,” says Hermione quietly.

“You were the one who kept telling me the book was dangerous!”

“I’m trying to say, Harry, that you’re putting too much blame on yourself. I thought the Prince seemed to have a nasty sense of humor, but I would never have guessed he was a potential killer. . . .”

“None of us could’ve guessed Snape would . . . you know,” says Ron.

Silence falls between us, and after a few minutes, some subdued goodnights, are given, and the four of us go our separate ways to pack and go to sleep.

* * *

 

I rose early to pack the next day; the Hogwarts Express will be leaving an hour after the funeral. Downstairs, I find the mood in the Great Hall subdued. Everybody is wearing their dress robes and no one seems very hungry. Luka and Ariana have violated the house rules and are sitting at the Gryffindor table with us. Professor McGonagall has left the thronelike chair in the middle of the staff table empty.

Hagrid’s chair is deserted too; I think that perhaps he is not been able to face breakfast, but Snape’s place has been unceremoniously filled by Rufus Scrimgeour. Among Scrimgeour’s entourage I spot the red hair and horn-rimmed glasses of Percy. Ron gives no sign that he is aware of Percy, apart from stabbing pieces of kipper with unwonted venom.

Over at the Slytherin table Crabbe and Goyle are muttering together. Hulking boys though they are, they look oddly lonely without the tall, pale figure of Malfoy between them, bossing them around.

My thoughts are interrupted by the almost desperate squeeze of Ariana’s hand on my arm, and I look at her to see her biting her lip and watching Professor McGonagall stand to address the crowd.

“It is nearly time,” she says. “Please follow your Heads of Houses out into the grounds. Gryffindors, after me.”

We file out from behind our benches in near silence. No one says a word about my brother and girlfriend not leaving to return to their own houses. I only see understanding looks from the heads of houses. I glimpse Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent, long, emerald green robes embroidered with silver. I have never seen Professor Sprout, Head of the Hufflepuffs, looking so clean; there is not a single patch on her hat, and when we reach the entrance hall, we find Madam Pince standing beside Filch, she in a thick black veil that falls to her knees, he in an ancient black suit and tie reeking of mothballs.

They are heading, as I see when I step out onto the stone steps from the front doors, towards the lake. The warmth of the sun caresses my face as we follow Professor McGonagall in silence to the place where hundreds of chairs have been set out in rows. An aisle runs down the center of them: There is a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It is the most beautiful summer’s day.

I hear a shuddering sob beside me, and I wrap my arm around Ariana and pull her closer to me, willing my strength to be enough for her in this time of mourning.

An extraordinary assortment of people have already settled into half of the chairs; shabby and smart, old and young. Most I do not recognize, but a few he do, including members of the Order of the Phoenix: Kingsley Shacklebolt; Mad-Eye Moody; Tonks, her hair miraculously returned to vividest pink; Remus Lupin, with whom she seems to be holding hands; Mum and Dad; Bill supported by Fleur and followed by Fred and George, who are wearing jackets of black dragon skin. Then there is Madame Maxime, who takes up two and a half chairs on her own; Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron in London; Arabella Figg, Harry’s Squib neighbor; the hairy bass player from the Wizarding group the Weird Sisters; Ernie Prang, driver of the Knight Bus; Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley; and some people whom I merely know by sight, such as the barman of the Hog’s Head and the witch who pushes the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. The castle ghosts are there too, barely visible in the bright sunlight, discernible only when they move, shimmering insubstantially on the gleaming air.

Ariana, Luka, and I separate from Harry, Ron, and Hermione to go sit up in the seats at the front of the crowd. Ariana was given a place and demanded that she would not sit there alone that we would not leave her side, if she was to play the role of dutiful mourning granddaughter for the whole world to see. This was of course Scrimgeour who asked her to do so, and just that his motives were so twisted, I wanted to knock his head off his shoulders.

Ariana had to calm me down after he’d left by telling me that she was going to sit up there and honor her grandfather no matter what, and that it was better to just let this matter go.

Cornelius Fudge walks towards us in the front rows, his expression miserable, twirling his green bowler hat as usual; I next recognize Rita Skeeter, who, I am infuriated to see, has a notebook clutched in her red-taloned hand, and then, with a worse jolt of fury, Dolores Umbridge, an unconvincing expression of grief upon her toadlike face, a black velvet bow set atop her iron-colored curls. At the sight of the centaur Firenze, who is standing like a sentinel near the water’s edge, she gives a start and scurries hastily into a seat a good distance away.

The staff is seated at last. I can see Scrimgeour looking grave and dignified in the front row with us, and Professor McGonagall. I wonder whether Scrimgeour or any of these important people are really sorry that Dumbledore is dead. But then I hear music, strange, otherworldly music, and I forget my dislike of the Ministry in looking around for the source of it. I am not the only one: Many heads are turning, searching, a little alarmed.

“In there,” Luka whispers to Ariana and me.

And I see them in the clear green sunlit water, inches below the surface,: a chorus of merpeople singing in a strange language I do not understand, their pallid faces rippling, their purplish hair flowing all around them. The music makes the hair on my neck stand up, and yet it is not unpleasant. It speaks very clearly of loss and of despair, so much so that Ariana starts silently crying next to me. As I look down into the wild faces of the singers, I have the feeling that they, at least, are sorry for Dumbledore’s passing. Ariana’s sharp intake of breath pulls me away from the lake and I turn my attention to what seems to have horrifyingly transfixed her.

Hagrid is walking slowly up the aisle between the chairs. He is crying quite silently, his face gleaming with tears, and in his arms, wrapped in purple velvet spangled with golden stars, is what I know to be Dumbledore’s body. A sharp pain rises in my throat at this sight: For a moment, the strange music and the knowledge that Dumbledore’s body is so close seems to take all warmth from the day.

Ariana grips onto me for dear life, and Luka’s face is pale, paler than I had ever seen it before. Even after seeing his shrouded body, I still have a hard time believing that Dumbledore is dead. Luka and I had grown up with Ariana and had visited they’re house countless times. Professor Dumbledore was a fixture of my life, and now he’s just gone.

Hagrid places the body carefully upon the table. Now he retreats down the aisle, blowing his nose with loud trumpeting noises that draw scandalized looks from some, including, I see, Dolores Umbridge . . . but I know that Dumbledore would not have cared. I try to make a friendly gesture to Hagrid as he passes, but Hagrid’s eyes are so swollen it is a wonder he can see where he is going.

“I don’t think that I can do this.” Ariana says weakly. I glance at my girlfriend worriedly. I know it had only been a short while, but seeing Ariana like this still greatly disturbs me.

“You can Ari. You’re the strongest person I know.” I whisper to her, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, drawing some more displeased looks from some people around us (Umbridge and Skeeter), but the glare that McGonagall gives them in turn makes even my blood run cold.

The music stops and we all turn to face the front again.

A little tufty-haired man in plain black robes gets to his feet and stands now in front of Dumbledore’s body. I could only hear some of what he was saying for my mind was swimming with grief and worry. Odd words float to me through my fog. “Nobility of spirit” . . . “intellectual contribution” . . . “greatness of heart” . . . It does not mean very much. It has little to do with Dumbledore as I had known him. I suddenly remember Dumbledore’s idea of a few words, “nitwit,” “oddment,” “blubber,” and “tweak,” and have to suppress a grin. . . . What is the matter with me?

There was a soft splashing noise to our left and I see that the merpeople have broken the surface to listen too.

I look towards the forest tightening my hold on Ariana as she starts to cry harder. There is movement among the trees. The centaurs have come to pay their respects too. They do not move into the open but I see them standing quite still, half hidden in shadow, watching the wizards, their bows hanging at their sides.

The little man in black has stopped speaking at last and resumes his seat. I glance at Ariana thinking that she may have wanted to say a few words, but she doesn’t move.

“Ari?” I whisper trying to get her attention.

“He wanted it this way. Things that need to be said at parting are to be private not for some public spectacle.” She tells me, and the line sounds rehearsed like she had heard her grandfather utter that many times before.

Then several people scream. Bright, white flames had erupt around Dumbledore’s body and the table upon which it lay: Higher and higher they rise, obscuring the body. White smoke spirals into the air and makes strange shapes: I think, for one heart-stopping moment, that I see a phoenix fly joyfully into the blue, but next second the fire has vanished. In its place is a white marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore’s body and the table on which he rested.

I glance at Ariana again and I’m surprised to see that she is no longer crying even though her eyes are watery. There is a pained melancholy smile on her face.

“He always was one for theatrics.” She chuckles.

“That he was.” Luka responds a small reminiscent grin on his face.

People started dispersing almost immediately. After a few seconds the three of us slowly stand up. “I’m going to go check in with Mum and Dad, you’ll be okay?” Luka asks the two of us, looking almost panicked at the thought of leaving the both of us alone.

“We’re not going to fall apart the second you’re away from us Luka.” I tease him lightly, and after another second he finally nods his head and disappears into the crowd of people searching for our family.

Ariana and I stand there for a moment before she pulls me closer to his tomb. Once close enough she places her hand on the marble right around when his heart should be.

“Rest well grandfather, you have had a long and wondrous fight. We will not forget you. I— will not forget you.” She says placing a kiss to her fingertips and brushing it against the cool stone. At that she breaks away from me and turns so that she doesn’t have to face the visage that reminds her that her world is shattered. I stare down at the stone for a moment.

“I’ll take care of her for you— as long as she’ll have me. And even if she won’t have me I’ll still watch over her. It’s my opinion that the greatest thing you’ve ever done Professor is guide her into becoming the wonderful, beautiful person that she is today. I thank you for that. Rest well, we will carry on for you now.” I whisper to the tomb hoping that somewhere his spirit will actually understand and take heart by my utterance.

When I turn around I am greeted by the conflicted look of my girlfriend as she looks at Harry and Ginny. I step beside her and see that it looks like neither of them are terribly happy.

“Are they seriously breaking up?” I ask flabbergasted by the news.

“Looks like Harry’s doing.” Ariana says.

“Mental.” I sigh shaking my head.

“Jamie, I know that this is going to be the end of us seeing each other year round.” Ariana says abruptly. I look at her shocked that she could suggest such a thing. “I’m not stupid Jame, I know that Grandfather was looking for Horcruxes and tasked Harry to find them and destroy them. I know that being the brave, and noble idiots that you are, you, Ron, and Hermione will follow him.”

“Ariana…” I say trying to grasp something here that will ease her suffering, and explain myself at the same time.

“I only have one thing to say about that,” She steamrolls on, “if you even think about breaking up with me for some idiotically noble reason as to keep me safe from danger, then I will kill you myself and bring you back from beyond just to kill you again. You’re stuck with me Pendragon whether you like it or not. I can’t bear to lose another person that I love.”

After that short burst of fiery passion, she slips back down into her saddened state, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly to me.

“Never Ari. Who else would ever put up with me? I’m afraid that you’re going to have to be stuck with me till the end.” I murmur.

“Just make sure that that end doesn’t come sooner than it should you hear?” She says, and I nod my head against her shoulder.

There’s a throat clearing by us, and we slowly break apart to see the somewhat nervous and uncertain face of McGonagall.

“Professor.” I say nervously.

“Minerva.” Ariana says dropping all formality with the woman she’s known all her life.

“Ariana there are some things that need to be discussed about your living arrangements. I know that you only have one year left of school, before you are out on your own, but Dumbledore and I had made arrangements should something have ever happened to you, that you would come to live with me… if that is agreeable of course.” McGonagall says, and I’m so shocked because I’ve never seen her practically stammer before in my life.

Ariana gives the woman a watery small smile. “I think that would be best. Grandfather always spoke highly of you, and I honestly have nowhere else to go…” Ariana trails off. I give my girlfriend another squeeze before letting her go. I have a feeling that this talk is best had in private.

“I’ll come find you later.” I tell her, giving one of her tearstained cheeks a quick kiss. I wander away trying to find my friends so that I can see how they are holding up. I manage to locate Hermione and Ron who are looking nervously in the direction of the lake, so I quickly make my way over to them.

“What wrong?” I ask. Neither answer me, Hermione just points off to the distance where we can see Harry and Scrimgeour arguing.

“Oh that’s never good.” I sigh. Hermione hums in agreement while Ron gives me a no duh look.

A minute later the Minister is angrily walking away from Harry, and the three of us quickly make our way over to him. This can’t have been good so shortly after Dumbledore’s funeral.

We finally catch up to Harry in the shade of a Beech tree under which we had sat in happier times.

“What did Scrimgeour want?” Hermione whispers.

“Same as he wanted at Christmas,” shrugs Harry. “Wanted me to give him inside information on Dumbledore and be the Ministry’s new poster boy.”

“Like that will ever happen.” I say gruffly.

Ron seems to struggle with himself for a moment, then he says loudly to Hermione, “Look, let me go back and hit Percy!”

“No,” she says firmly, grabbing his arm.

“It’ll make me feel better!”

Harry laughs. Even Hermione grins a little, though her smile fades as she looks up at the castle.

“I think that would make us all feel better.” I tell him. Hermione changes tracks though.

“I can’t bear the idea that we might never come back,” she says softly. “How can Hogwarts close?”

“Maybe it won’t,” says Ron. “We’re not in any more danger here than we are at home, are we? Everywhere’s the same now. I’d even say Hogwarts is safer, there are more wizards inside to defend the place. What d’you reckon, Harry?”

“I’m not coming back even if it does reopen,” says Harry.

Ron gapes at him, but Hermione says sadly, “I knew you were going to say that. But then what will you do?”

“I’m going back to the Dursleys’ once more, because Dumbledore wanted me to,” says Harry. “But it’ll be a short visit, and then I’ll be gone for good.”

“But where will you go if you don’t come back to school?” I ask, thinking about how smart Ariana truly is.

“I thought I might go back to Godric’s Hollow,” Harry mutters. “For me, it started there, all of it. I’ve just got a feeling I need to go there. And I can visit my parents’ graves, I’d like that.”

“And then what?” says Ron.

“Then I’ve got to track down the rest of the Horcruxes, haven’t I?” says Harry, his eyes upon Dumbledore’s white tomb, reflected in the water on the other side of the lake. “That’s what he wanted me to do, that’s why he told me all about them. If Dumbledore was right — and I’m sure he was — there are still four of them out there. I’ve got to find them and destroy them, and then I’ve got to go after the seventh bit of Voldemort’s soul, the bit that’s still in his body, and I’m the one who’s going to kill him. And if I meet Severus Snape along the way,” he adds, “so much the better for me, so much the worse for him.”

There is a long silence. The crowd has almost dispersed now, the stragglers giving the monumental figure of Grawp a wide berth as he cuddles Hagrid (I still can’t believe that Hagrid chose to bring him for this), whose howls of grief are still echoing across the water.

Another thing I can’t believe is how lightly Harry is talking about taking a life. I know that Voldemort needs to be stopped and the only way that will happen is death, but it still pains me to hear my friend go on like that.

“We’ll be there, Harry,” says Ron.

“What?”

“At your aunt and uncle’s house,” says Ron. “And then we’ll go with you wherever you’re going.”

“No —” says Harry quickly obviously thinking that he was going to take this dangerous journey alone. I roll my eyes at him and his daftness.

“You said to us once before,” says Hermione quietly, “that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We’ve had time, haven’t we?”

“We’re with you whatever happens,” says Ron. “But mate, you’re going to have to come round my mum and dad’s house before we do anything else, even Godric’s Hollow.”

“Why?”

“Bill and Fleur’s wedding, remember?” I say with a wry grin on my face. It seems somewhat ridiculous to think about a wedding while we’re at a funeral, but I assume that stranger things have happened.

“Yeah, we shouldn’t miss that,” Harry says finally.

The three of us stand there looking out over the lake at the castle still silently glittering in the distance despite all that’s happened. To me even after the horrors that have occurred on this ground recent, and past, this place feels like a second home to me. I honestly doubt that it will ever feel any different.

The three of us stay there for how long I don’t know, but it almost feels as though we are eleven again standing in this very spot, thinking about how the world was so big, and how we were ever going to pass our exams. As the light starts to get darker, I can’t help but think that this is a goodbye of sort. There’s a good chance that we’re never going to see this place again.

I just hope that I will be able to hold onto this memory of near peace for as long as possible, for who knows what tomorrow will bring.

 

The End

 

For now…

 


End file.
